


THE HIGH END OF LOW

by whokilledcodyosmond



Series: BORN VILLAIN [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Arson, Blood and Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Dark Derek, Dark fic, Disguise, Dissociation, Drug cartels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hacker Stiles Stilinski, Hostage Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Organized Crime, Panic Attacks, Past Violence, Possible Character Death, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Punk Stiles, Smuggling, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Surgery, Tattoos, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Wakes & Funerals, oh boy is it dark, smuggling gone bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:19:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledcodyosmond/pseuds/whokilledcodyosmond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale has risen to power in Beacon City's underworld and has the police chief's son as a hostage- but is that really what he is?</p><p>'Stiles' Stilinski has traded his old demons for new ones and every waking moment has the promise of violence and love in equal measure.</p><p>A sequel to BORN VILLAIN</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Devour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you're a flower that's withering
> 
> i can't feel your thorns in my hand
> 
> this is no embrace- you're buried deep
> 
> and you're not crying- this is blood all over me
> 
> (I'll swallow up all of you)

Inside the cell, a bare bulb cast a constant glare across concrete walls. The floor was cracked, dirty with some dried brown substance. He didn't want to think about what it might be. It had been days since they threw him in- at least he thought it had been that long. His sense of time was growing shaky and unclear. Each minute stretched out longer than the last. There was a small slot in the door but it had remained tightly closed ever since he got there.

Where exactly 'there' was, he was unsure. Sometimes he heard distant noises, voices speaking muffled words and doors opening and closing. Every now and then he could feel vibrations in the floor, humming under his feet.

"Hey," he croaked, his voice scratchy and barely audible over the humming light, a sound he'd never get out of his brain. "Is anyone there? I'm hungry."

As expected there was no reply- there was never a reply. The first day he had screamed, cursed, cried until he was hoarse and could make no noise at all but no one gave him any sign they were listening. He was sure they were though, the bastards. The handcuffs chafed against his wrists and ankles.

"You hear me? I said I'm fucking starving in here!"

He got to his feet, ignoring the way the room wobbled and slammed his shoulder against the door a few times. He was rewarded with nothing besides an ache in his bones and dots that danced in his vision. He sat down awkwardly in the corner, trying not to weep as the familiar pains of hunger gnawed at his insides. He was getting to the point where if a rat or some small creature wandered into his cell, he didn't know if he'd be able to resist having a go at it.

The grinning skulls tattooed on his arms seemed to mock him now. If he didn't get some sustenance soon he'd be a skeleton himself. The thought set him off again the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. The worst part about all of it was the confusion- he didn't even understand what he did to get where he was. They had put a heavy black hood on him, thrown him in some truck where he bounced around until the vehicle had hit a bump and he knocked his head pretty good. When he came to, they had buzzed his hair off and were depositing him like garbage in the small windowless room.

"Please," he whispered. "Please."

He was managing to nod off, head resting against the wall when the door gave a grinding creak as it was unlocked and opened. The hinges shrieked in the frame and he began to blubber, immediately hopeful for a change in his situation, whatever it was. Anything would be better than the numbness of his stay thus far.

That hope died when they unscrewed the lid of a large plastic container, upending it over his head. The foul, oppressive stink of gasoline filled his nose and he began to writhe in the growing puddle as it began to coat his skin completely. "Please, no-" he coughed as a stream went straight into his mouth, assaulting his tongue as he struggled not to throw up. "Why-" The thick brown liquid was in his eyes, stinging as he pleaded for them to stop. Over his own words he heard the container being thrown in the corner and his heart hammered out of control as the sound of a match being lit reached his ears.

"NO, NO- PLEASE-" His words dissolved into screams and the plume of fire that instantly engulfed his body. It was hotter than he could fathom, like walking on the sun. All his senses were useless- all he could feel was pure agony and it drowned out every other sensory organ. If he could have been grateful, he would've been simply for being spared the smell of his own burning flesh.

It all stopped soon enough anyway, the flames replaced with merciful nothingness.

***************

John Stilinski stood on the front steps of the city morgue, trying to calm his pounding heart. He had made the trip many times in his career for a variety of reasons and thought he was by now immune to the trepidation but apparently he was wrong. He squinted up at the bright sun, irritated he had left his sunglasses on the dashboard of his cruiser. Around him, the people of Beacon City went about their business, chatting on their phones, laughing with friends, going about their normal everyday lives while he had to leave the sunny afternoon behind and go look at a corpse that may or may not be his own son. He shook his head at the uncharacteristically bitter thought. The last four months hadn't been good for his psyche or his soul.

The tall white building seemed to loom over him and he conceded he had steeled himself as much as humanly possible. With a heavy load on his mind, he opened the front doors and slipped inside. Behind the front desk, the receptionist gave him a nod and he could easily see the pity in her eyes. He gritted his teeth and gave a halfhearted wave. He should have been used to that look in people's eyes whenever they spoke to him these days. He was the police chief with the missing son. The missing criminal son. The shame he must feel. He snorted- they had no idea of the shame within him. He wouldn't have been surprised if the entire staff knew why he was there, he was sure they gossiped their fair share just like his workplace did.

"Mr. Downell is already in the examination room, Chief Stilinski."

He nodded, already heading towards the steps. "Thanks."

As he went down the stairs, the air quickly chilled the further he went. Even in the halls the too-clean stench of the chemicals they used made his nose start to tingle. His footsteps echoed loudly, felt leaden as he approached the last door on the end. He raised a loose fist, rapping gently on the frosted pane, the lettering old and cracked.

"Come on in." A muffled voice invited.

John edged the door open and stepped inside. The examination room was spartan and didn't hold much besides the table where his query waited under a blue sheet and a small desk where the coroner, Shaun Downell, sat and scribbled out a report of his visit. The older man looked up and smiled, small glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose.

"Be right with you."

"Sure, sure," John winced at the unintentional volume of his voice. "No rush."

"Just finishing up some paperwork. You wouldn't believe the stuff we have to do now since this whole mess with the Mayor. I've got forms for forms for forms!" Downell shook his head as he wrote.

John gave a humorless laugh. "Oh, I believe it alright."

Downell put his pen down with a sheepish look. "Yes I suppose you would. Sorry about that." The coroner got to his feet slowly with a wince and came around the desk to shake John's hand. "How are you doing these days, John?"

John sighed, knowing the conversation was coming- it always was. Perpetually. "I'm hanging in there, Shaun. Trying to keep busy." He changed the subject quickly, hoping the older man got the hint. "How's the family?"

Downell smiled. "Good, good. Lisa and Elliot brought over the grandkids the other night for dinner- I tell you, I only saw them a week ago and I swear they've grown since then."

"It goes fast." John chuckled, hoping it didn't sound as empty as he felt.

"It does," Downell pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, pausing to look the other man in the eye. "Are you sure you want to be the one to see this, John? It's not terribly..pleasant."

"It never is."

Downell nodded. "True enough, I suppose. Just tell me when you're ready."

John looked down at the body hidden between them, only a sheet separated him from the most terrible possibility of his life. For all the apprehension he felt, he was surprised at the coolness of his terror. He had been looking for Stiles ever since he had gone, three and a half months now and he had been fighting with himself the entire time. On one hand he knew the chances of him finding his son alive and well was slim to none and on the other, there was some sense he couldn't fight that told him Stiles was out there somewhere in the city. The corpse under him was simply an obstacle to surpass in order to rule out the worst case scenario and then he could continue his search a little lighter for the moment.

"Alright, do it."

Downell gently pinched the sheet in two places, folding it down across the corpse's chest and exposing its face- or what was left of it. "As I said, John, not very pleasant at all."

It was more of a skeleton than anything else. A blackened skull leered up at him, scraps of flesh tightened and taut against bone where the cartilage had receded heavily. Burned out sockets stared up at the ceiling and John was thankful he had skipped lunch before making the trip.

"What do we know so far?" He forced himself to ask, trying not to breathe in the stench of fire no chemical could hope to scour away.

"Well, not a whole lot." Downell looked down as he spoke, unfazed by death completely at the current stage of his career. "Our friend here is definitely male. I'd guess early twenties." He gestured with a finger to a small hairline crack on the side of the skull. "See this fracture here? Fellow took a nasty hit to the head sometime before he died. Would've had a concussion, I'd say. Anyway, that's about it. We're still waiting to see if any DNA match comes up from the samples I could save- it's not much, I can tell you that already. Our best bet is going to be dental records- usually solid with the burn victims."

John nodded along as the coroner spoke, feeling his heart sink as he remembered Stiles' twenty-second birthday was a few months ago. "When are you expecting to hear back from them?"

Downell thought. "Could come through tomorrow but I doubt it. More likely in a few days? Department's slow these days, everyone's still backlogged with all the cold cases the FBI dredged up last month."

A shrill beep filled the room as John's radio went off. "Hey, Chief?" One of his deputies, Parrish, spoke up.

John mouthed 'sorry' but Downell shrugged easily and returned the sheet covering the remains. "Yeah, Parrish. I'm here."

Parrish's voice quieted a little and John could tell he was trying not to be overheard. "That Agent McCall is here again looking for you."

John groaned. Ever since the FBI had arrived to take over the Argent case- and all associated cases as well, Rafael McCall had been a pain in his ass. "I'm just finishing up here now- tell him I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Alright, Chief. See you soon. Sorry." Parrish whispered the apology and the radio clicked off. John pinched between his eyes, already feeling a headache coming on. Deputy Parrish was a good officer and John had definitely come to appreciate his help since everything went down. Unfortunately even a thousand good deputies couldn't erase the migraine the meddling FBI agent perpetually gave him.

"Duty calls, I take it?" Downell joked, offering his hand.

"Yeah," John shook with the coroner. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear."

"Take care, John. I'll give you a heads up before I file anything else with those vultures, alright?"

"Thanks Shaun, I appreciate it."

"Not a problem. Us old locals have to stick together, after all."

John chuckled under his breath as he let himself out with a final wave, forcing himself not to bolt like a mad man out into the bright sunshine. His fists were clenched so tightly the flesh around his knuckles was pale and bloodless. He hoped Parrish had coffee waiting for him.

***************

Parker Sloan tapped his foot in a steady rhythm. He had never been very patient and his various stints in prison did nothing to help this facet of his personality. He was a very tall, skinny man, completely bald and wore bold-rimmed glasses. His physique had earned him the nickname 'Twig' among his old gang of friends but sadly he was not among friends this particular night- not at all.

Surrounding him were various thugs who worked for the same man he did though he didn't know any of their names or faces- didn't care to if he were being perfectly honest. He did his job, collected what needed collecting, and returned with pockets bulging with cash. Behind him, a crate of military-grade assault rifles sat with them as he waited for their prospective buyers- who and why were not words often used in his line of work. The boss gave him a number, he made sure he was given that number, things went smoothly. If that number was lower than expected, well..he had seen things get messy before, it wouldn't be the first time.

"Buyers are approaching now." An accented voice spoke in his ear through the small earpiece he wore. He kept meaning to ask Bernadette where she was from exactly. Was she Russian? Ukrainian? He was bad at placing that sort of thing.

"Finally." He got no reply and didn't really expect one. The woman was no conversationalist.

The waves lapped gently at the shore, a blackened pier at their backs. The moon was full and cast quite a bit of light down on them, glinting off the towers of shipping crates around them. In the distance, a few late night carrier ships blared their horns as they moved into various docks.

Two black SUVs pulled up and Parker counted eight men in all as they exited the vehicles, all swagger and faux menace. A few of them had their weapons in plain view, cocked ridiculously on their hips and one down the front of his jeans- almost hidden behind an obnoxiously large belt buckle.

Parker sniffed and fought the eye roll he felt coming. One of the others had said the clowns that had come to meet them were Cartel all the way from Mexico but he wasn't impressed in the slightest. The way they carried themselves pegged them as amateurs- maybe the Cartel wasn't taking them seriously to send the real deal. They'd soon find out either way so he forced a smile on his face and a gracious nod in their direction.

"Good evening, gentlemen. How was the drive?"

One of the uglier ones, Parker decided, stepped forward and spit on the ground. "We didn't come to have no tea parties, no small talk. Show us the pieces."

Parker bit back a quip about double negatives and kept his smile up as much as it pained him. "My apologies." He nodded curtly at one of the others and the crate was dragged out for all to see, the tarp covering it lifted to reveal the shiny new weaponry nestled almost lovingly in golden straw. "What you have here is a collection of VHS-2 assault rifles exported by our friends in Croatia. All of them have been modified with a cushioning mechanism that drastically reduces recoil, allowing for a much more comfortable and accurate shot. One of the most popular of its kind on the black markets right now. Very economical."

The leader didn't seem very interested in Parker's description but made eyes towards the crate, picking up a rifle after Parker gave him a 'go ahead' gesture. After a few moments of inspection, he grunted something in Spanish and one of the others hoisted a briefcase out of one of the vehicles, handing it over to Parker without another word.

"Gracias," Parker smiled, extending a hand that was ignored. He sighed, setting it down on the hood of his car and deftly plucked wads of bills from the case with his long fingers. Experience had made him a fast counter and an even faster sense of what certain amounts of money looked like, felt like- and this felt light. At least twenty thousand light and that wouldn't do at all. "Excuse me, sir? Sir? Senor?"

The leader turned back, a mean sneer on his face. "You got your money, we're done here. Now fuck off."

Parker let a touch of cold come into his voice. "No, I'm afraid you're mistaken, friend. The deal agreed upon was fifty thousand- this is barely thirty. You're short."

The man turned back to his compatriots and laughed heartily as if Parker had uttered a hilarious joke. The others laughed with him.

Everyone was silent on Parker's side, waiting to see what would happen.

"Let me tell you something, motherfucker," the Cartel thug stepped closer with a grin, jacket thrown open to needlessly reveal the two pistols tucked in his belt. "I aint your friend. Cartel? We don't have 'friends'. Whatever the Cartel gives you, you accept it and you be thankful for our generosity." He got close enough that Parker could smell sweat and bad cologne. "Be thankful I don't take your nice guns and waste you right here. Comprende?"

Parker sighed. "I understand. Bernadette?"

The man twisted his mouth in confusion. "Who-"

He never got a chance to finish his question as a bullet sped through his neck, a spurt of blood hitting one of the other men square in the face. As he fell dead, pandemonium erupted around them. All of the Cartel men fumbled for their weapons, panicking as every second one of them dropped, each bullet finding its mark with deadly accuracy. Parker and the others didn't have to lift a finger. The last was still trying to clean the blood out of his eyes when one last shot echoed and then he was quiet and moving no longer.

"Targets eliminated."

Parker curled his lip in distaste, rubbing off speckles of blood on his shoe on the nearest corpse. "I can see that. Hold on, I better call the boss." He withdrew his cellphone, dialing a well familiar number. In the background, he could hear one of the men, probably a rookie no doubt, throwing up and he muttered in disgust. "Jesus."

"Yes?" The voice that answered sounded immediately impatient and Parker hastily spoke.

"It's Parker, Sir."

"What is it?"

"Well," Parker looked down and stepped out of the way of the blood inching towards him. Behind him, the others loaded the crate of guns back into their car. "The meeting with the Cartel boys went..sour. They were significantly short on funds."

The phone was quiet for a second. "I assume things have been taken care of."

"Yes, of course. What do you want done with them?"

"Leave them for the birds."

Parker nodded absently. "Yes, sir. I'll just return with the product and the money as soon-"

"No."

"Sir?"

"Leave the money. Don't take one dollar, Parker. Do you understand me?"

Parker blanched. The order was well against his nature when it came to money. "Sir, respectfully, that's thirty grand just sitting out here. Why wouldn't we take it?"

"Because," the voice was slow, deceivingly patient and it brought a chill to the back of his neck. "We want to be careful. We want to send a message here, Parker. We want to make it clear that we don't want their money if it doesn't come with their respect. Anything else?"

"No, sir. I-" The dial tone beeped in his ear as the other line hung up and he sighed.

"'No sir', 'yes, sir'." Mocked a voice in his ear.

Parker waited til he was in the car, safe from Bernadette's scope behind tinted windows to mutter back at her. "Stuff it you old hag." He smoothed down the front of his coat, examining his nails as he sighed to the driver. "Home again, home again."

***************

John woke from an uneasy sleep, his cell vibrating loudly on nightstand. A cursory glance at the clock told him it was one in the morning. He knocked the phone onto the floor, cursing as he leaned out of bed as he grasped for it in the dark with unsteady fingers.

"Hello?" He grumbled, finally answering on the sixth vibration as soon as he grabbed it.

"John? It's Shaun Downell. I'm so sorry to call you this late but..well, I said I'd let you know first if I found anything."

It felt like someone poured a bucket of freezing cold water down his back. "They found a match?"

Downell sounded uncomfortable. "Well..yes, yes they did. How soon can you get down here?"

It was unknowingly a quote of Rosalyn Wells calling him all those years ago and it began to spin a thread of tighly coiled dread in his chest.

"Let me get dressed, I'll be right there." He hung up, struggling with a pair of pants in the darkness of his bedroom, old conversations replaying in his head.

"John?"

"Doctor Wells? Listen, Stiles is gone, I can't find him anywhere, did-"

"He's here with me, John. You need to get over here, now."

"What's wrong? Is he okay?"

"How soon can you be here?"

He would never forget the alarm, the sadness in the woman's voice, and what would follow it for what seemed like the rest of his life. The overwhelming sense that he had failed his son for the last time nagged at him. He felt like he was in a never ending nightmare and it was as though he slept-walk all the way to the morgue. He blinked and he was parking his car outside, keeping his shaking hands in his jacket pockets as Downell greeted him at the door and let him in.

"Sorry again about the late hour, John. This couldn't wait- you know what they're like. I daresay they'll be stealing my files and scooping up anything of note in a matter of hours."

"I understand. I appreciate it." John heard himself say distantly.

"Let's speak in my office, it's warmer up here. Can I get you anything?"

John shook his head, trying not to get impatient. "No, thank you."

"Alright, come in then and have a seat."

The coroner's office was surprisingly brightly colored. Pale yellow and green stripes papered the walls, lined with shelves and shelves of books. In the corner a bird cage sat with a tiny bird skeleton perched as if expecting a treat.

"A joke of mine," Downell nodded towards it having seen him looking with a raised eyebrow. "I think I'm the only one here who finds it funny." He muttered, opening a folder on his desk and becoming quieter, instantly putting John on edge.

"What did they find?"

Downell took off his glasses and sighed heavily. "The DNA scrapings weren't clear, too much was..ah..burned away for a proper match, you see-"

"Shaun. Just say it." John demanded, sure he would go mad if he didn't know one way or another that very second.

"I'm so sorry, John. I really am." Downell did look truly sad as he handed over one of the papers in the file.

John felt his eyes fill with tears as he read his son's name- a positive match through dental records. He read the file completely, over and over again several times as Downell looked on patiently. He read it until the words blurred into watery shapes. "They're sure?"

Downell nodded slowly. "They usually are. It's about a 99.8% accuracy rate."

"So there's..there's still a chance? They could be wrong?"

"John-"

"Is there a chance?" John cried, shaking the paper around as if he could throttle the truth out of it.

Downell started to look extremely uncomfortable. "I..I suppose technically there is but I've never seen a mistake this way. I'm sorry."

He rose from the chair unsteadily, moving towards the door and ignoring Downell's protests.

"John, why don't you sit a while-"

"Thanks for letting me know, Shaun. I'll be in touch." He let the door slam behind him, moving towards his car with purpose.

John sat in front of the wheel and the tears came unbidden. All his feelings of failure and uselessness came bubbling up, now draped in despair and loss. He had lost his wife and now he had lost his son as well. His family was gone.

He stared out through the windshield, breathing heavily with the painful sobs that still wracked him silently. Stiles was gone ...but whoever took him was still out there. A flicker of rage began to lick at his grief. Out there, in his city, was the person who took his son. The person who destroyed his family.

He took out a small notepad and began to scrawl down the names of other officers he still trusted. He would cross out several names over the next week, slowly whittling it down to three or four of his coworkers.

***************

The church bells rang, low and mournful. John watched them rock back and forth in their tower and knew Stiles would've hated them. It was the same church where they had his wife's service and he never thought he'd be repeating the same crushing grief over again, not for his son.

It was a beautiful day despite the circumstances- almost defiantly so. The sun shone across the green lawns, painting them a brilliant shade of green. All the flower beds were blooming fully now, bursting with new life. Seeing them only depressed him. He stood at the front doors, nodding his thanks as the people came in for the service, most of them uttering their condolences and giving a kind word or two.

"Hey, Chief." Stiles' old roommate, Scott, held out his hand.

"Scott." They shook hands, John smiling tightly.

The boy nodded awkwardly, quickly disappearing inside with others coming in.

All of them poured into the rows of pews, dressed in black and quietly talking among themselves. Patches of colored light shone through the stained glass, lost on a sea of mourning clothes.

"John?"

He turned to see who had addressed him, surprised to see the older woman who smiled sadly at him. She hadn't changed much since he had last seen her- only slightly whiter hair and now walking with the aid of a cane. A black shawl was draped delicately around her shoulders.

"Rosalyn," he greeted her, giving her a hug and struggling to maintain his composure. "It's been too long. How are you?"

"Oh, John," Rosalyn shook her head. "I should asking you that right now. I know you must be sick of hearing it by now, but I'm so sorry. I truly am."

"Thank you. At least it means something coming from you." He tried for a grateful smile, gesturing towards the pews. "Will you sit with me? Please?"

"Of course." She let him lead her to the front and sat with his help.

He knew people must be wondering who she was to him that he greeted her in such a tender way, escorting her to sit with the family. He'd let them gossip all they wanted. Rosalyn would always be family to him after what they went through together. He cleared his throat, feeling self conscious for some reason.

"If you ...wanted to say a few words, you're more than welcome to. You knew him better than most of the people here."

Rosalyn smiled though it was tinged with melancholy. "I'd love to."

John found himself staring at the coffin in front of them. Though it was closed and held nothing inside, he imagined he could walk up there and open it up and Stiles would be there inside, whole and no longer burned, grinning slyly up at him like the whole thing was a big joke.

"John?" Rosalyn whispered, giving him a gentle nudge.

He shook his head. The priest had been talking and he hadn't heard a word. "Sorry," he answered quietly. "Lost in thought there. It just..it doesn't feel real, you know? I feel like I'm going to call him later and he'll just sass me endlessly."

Rosalyn nodded with a small sigh. "He could be very petulant, I remember that."

"'Petulant' is a kindness," he snorted, ignoring the looks several people gave him. "He could be downright nasty. God, I miss him. I miss him so much."

"Shh," Rosalyn patted his back. "You'll need your strength now. It's time for you go up there."

"Yeah," he rubbed at his eyes as he stood slowly. "You're right."

John moved to stand behind the podium, looking out into the crowd full of faces he barely knew. Some were family he barely knew, let alone Stiles. Some were friends and acquaintances from work. It seemed anyone who had even met John or Stiles in passing filled the church. More likely it was just nosy people not wanting to miss a public display of his grief. He swallowed the anger and forced himself to speak.

"Most of you knew my son as a troublemaker." There was a quickly quieted titter from somewhere in the audience. "And that's fine. He was what he was. What you didn't see, whether because you didn't want to see it or because Stiles didn't want you to see it, was that he was more than his mistakes." He paused, trying to rein in the emotions so he could speak clearly. "He was smarter than anyone in this building. He was resourceful- whether you liked it or not he could get what he wanted, no problem. Most of all though," his voice cracked and he swallowed, the priest handing him a glass of water he took a gulp of. "Most of all, he was a survivor. He- he survived more than most of us would be able to take- and- and-" He let out a sob that sounded like someone drowning and it reverberated through the giant room up to the ceilings thanks to the microphone he spoke into. "I'm sorry- I can't-"

A murmur rippled through the people as he stumbled back down to the pews where Rosalyn gave his arm a quick squeeze before rising and slowly making her way up to the podium.

"Hello," her voice rang out clear and calm though full of a carefully managed emotion. "My name is Rosalyn Wells. I was Stiles' doctor and I'd like to think his friend for a relatively short while, but I can say with authority that it was an honor to have met him." She waited, letting her words sink in before moving on. "Stiles was an exceptional human being- warm, compassionate, and possessed a greater strength than I think he ever really understood. In these ways, I believe he took after his father." She nodded his way. "I know he was destined for great things and it is a great loss to have had him leave us so soon. Thank you."

She returned to her seat and leaned against John wordlessly as they waited for it to be over.

***************

In the very back of the church, near the heavy doors that were now shut for the service, two people stood against the wall. Both of them were dressed in black and wore large sunglasses that helped hide their faces. Most paid them little attention besides a curious passing glance but then all eyes were glued to the front as the chief of police began to speak in broken tones.

"It's a nice funeral," one of them smiled, nodding towards the people assembled just for Stiles' passing. "Don't you think?"

"It's strange when it's your own," the other muttered, feeling a great weight in his heart as he noticed Doctor Wells was in attendance. His hands twitched at his sides. I could run over right now, he wouldn't be able to stop me, I could talk to her and ...and Dad too...

His thoughts were interrupted with a low murmured threat. "Don't."

"I wasn't going to do anything." He protested, sullen and realizing he wasn't fooling the other man.

"See that?" He followed a pointed finger to a bright red dot that appeared for a second on Rosalyn's back. "If you try anything, she'll be the first to go. How many do you think Bernadette can get before you get to her?"

He froze, clung to the other's arm tightly, the man humming in satisfaction as though he could feel the hands touching him through his leather jacket. "Please don't, Derek. Please."

Derek patted his arm as if soothing a child. "Just keep behaving and you don't have to worry."

Scott's here too ...other than Doctor Wells and Dad ...I don't really know anyone else here.

"He thinks I'm dead," Stiles whispered almost in awe, having just watched his father almost break down mid-speech. "He really thinks I'm dead."

"Yeah," Derek raised a hand to his mouth, covering a yawn. "Faking a death is easier than most people realize. Come on, time to go."

Stiles pulled Derek's arm, begging and hating himself for it. "But we just got here!"

"Stiles," Derek spoke almost sweetly. "Don't make a scene. It's time to go, now move."

He pulled away and moved towards the doors without any further argument. The better mood he kept Derek in, the better it was for everyone. He had plenty of lost opportunities to learn that lesson the hard way.

He turned in alarm when Derek cursed behind him.

***************

Rosalyn was speaking quietly to him, asking about his arrangements when he suddenly felt a strange nudge in his guts. His instincts told him something was up and they were rarely wrong- years in the force had only sharpened them and he knew to trust the feeling. He found himself looking around, gaze stopping on two people leaving in a hurry. One of them seemed familiar to him and it was only when he turned around briefly to glance towards him that his blood ran cold.

"STILES!"

The one who looked like his son seemed to panic a moment before the other man took his arm and dragged him quickly out the door.

Everyone was looking at him as he kept shouting Stiles' name, eyes wide and wild like an animal's as he struggled to move people out of his way in pursuit. He turned his radio on, glad he kept it hooked on his belt the whole time and radioed in for back-up.

He looked back, seeing the same pitying look on Rosalyn's face. He knew he looked and sounded crazy- they all thought he was having a breakdown or something but he knew what he just saw. Stiles was alive. He just needed to get to him.

He flung open the doors, alarming a pair of birds perched on a nearby post. They fluttered away from the commotion and left the front lawns empty and silent. There was no sign or Stiles or the man he was with. He yelled in frustration, despairing even as he heard the sound of distant sirens approaching. He sat down on a bench, his head in his hands as he waited for the other officers to pull up.

John felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Rosalyn's kind eyes, crinkling at the edges as she smiled kindly.

"It's going to be okay, John. Someday, it will all be okay."

He nodded absently though he desperately wished he could believe the words.

At the very least, he knew that Stiles was alive.

Stiles was out there and he needed him.


	2. Pretty As A Swastika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one of us is a knife  
> one of us is ripe  
> let me show you where it hurts  
> there's more than one way  
> to make you cry
> 
> (I'd die for your sins if you don't kill me while I'm trying)

"You should have seen him, White," an accented and amused voice remarked. "Urinating in his pants like a child, trying to keep Hale happy. It was very funny."

A large, burly man sat next to her and pounded the table as he laughed. "What did he do to piss him off? No pun intended." This brought a fresh roar of laughter of him.

Bernadette tilted her chin towards the boy sitting in the corner, typing away on a laptop quietly and paying them no attention. "Looked too long- you know what he's like. Four broken bones when he was done. The sound of it was ...glorious." She stared off for a second dreamily.

"I don't get it- I mean, what's so special about him?"

"I would keep your voice down." Bernadette warned.

The man chuckled, waving around a thick finger for emphasis as he continued at the same volume. "You've got to hand it to Hale though, he runs a tight ship. I mean, he's nuts- especially when it comes to you-know-what, but the guy gets shit done. You've gotta set a uh, what's the word- a precedent."

"You're both sick." Parker sat back in his chair, long legs crossed on the table they occupied while they waited for their boss. "And don't pretend you're not just as scared of Hale. I've seen your lip quiver while he was tearing a strip off you, Bernie."

"Bah!" Bernadette sneered, looking conveniently bored of the conversation.

"You're working for the wrong guy if you're so goddamn squeamish, Sloan. There's no getting around it- you need to have the stomach, you know what I mean?"

Parker shrugged nonchalantly, trying to intentionally ruffle the other man who was clearly more invested in the subject. "I have the stomach to speak with you two- it can't be any worse than that."

"Go fuck yourself," the man glared before muttering. "Goddamn fruitcake."

"Now, Mr. White," Parker's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't let the boss of all people hear that blatant prejudice coming out of your mouth."

"I don't give a fuck what Hale hears me say." Contrary to his words, as soon as they left his mouth the man looked around like he was making sure Derek wasn't hiding in a corner listening to every word.

Parker smiled slyly. "Sure."

"You don't like it, leave." The man spat out.

"Eh," Parker shrugged. "I've had worse. It certainly pays my bills and more."

I still don't understand why Derek makes me come to these things. Stiles thought unhappily as he listened to the others talk among themselves. At least no one bothers with me. Derek had made sure of that with past ...examples of what happens when Stiles was spoken to or even acknowledged out of turn. It was a lonely way to live but when it came to the people in present company, he could admit that he was grateful. Listening to the three of them banter reminded him of that night on the docks, drinking and laughing with Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. He wondered where they had ended up from time to time, usually late at night when he couldn't sleep.

He knew the woman with short, grey hair was Bernadette Pavlar. Late forties, Russian, ex-military sniper. She was discharged in the face of some questionable friendly fire incidents. Every time her cool eyes would hover over him he cringed- woman gave him the creeps. Stiles thought she was like an evil grandmother out of someone's nightmares.

Parker Sloan was an "acquirer" of sorts- the diplomat of the group. He didn't make appearances there often, always running all over the city for Derek securing payments and various items. Past convictions of fraud, conspiracy, and grand theft. He didn't seem to have the same sadistic streak his other colleagues shared and was presently enjoying pissing off the third who sat with them.

The large man who sat between them was Ian White, Derek's chief of security. He was intimidatingly built and after Derek still commanded a healthy amount of fear from the people that worked in their circles. He used to have his own private security business but faced jail time after a job where he beat a man so severely he almost died.

Stiles still retained all these bits of information ever since he read up on each and every personnel file months ago. It was rare he was allowed to leave his room and going through over a hundred biographies, stories about the people coming and going all around him were entertaining enough to pass the time. It was better than sitting at his desk simply waiting to be called upon to hack into this system, gather information on this person- He was aware Derek relied on him, probably more than anyone else if he let himself believe his own secret pride. It felt good to be useful. Working was the only balm for his own thoughts which tended to exhaust him.

Lately he had been lonely more than anything else. Hearing the story recounted in front of him sent a fresh stab of it into him. Bernadette wasn't quite accurate though. What had actually happened was one of Derek's men had smiled at him, given him a nod- was trying to be pleasant and actually acknowledge that he existed. Derek, as Stiles knew very well, had an uncanny ability to show up out of nowhere and he picked that exact moment to make an appearance. He could only watch as Derek terrified the man, seemingly filling the entire room before grabbing his hand in a terrible display of strength- Ugh don't replay it again.

He scratched at his scalp where his hair had grown back in. A few weeks ago he had buzzed it off, thinking nothing of it. Needless to say, Derek was upset and for a week it wasn't good for anyone. Everyone who worked for him quickly learned that Stiles had a direct hotline to their employer's moods- for better or worse, and it was often times worse. Maybe if you kept him happier he wouldn't run around breaking fingers.

Derek entered then and all conversation stopped mid-sentence. Stiles was still amazed even after all the time spent with him at the pure confidence, charisma that radiated from the man. He was like a star and a black hole all at once, sucking the energy out of the room and radiating it back at them.

"Boss." Parker greeted, removing his feet from the table as the others nodding along with him, suddenly much less chatty.

Derek said nothing, only had eyes for Stiles, eyes that bore into him, ever searching. He brushed his fingers across the back of Stiles' neck as he passed him, smirking ever so slightly at the resulting shiver.

Behind him, a red-faced younger man with short blonde hair carried a cardboard box that he hastily set down roughly on the table, giving some indication of its weight. He turned on his heel and walked out, giving Stiles an appraising look as he did. Lucky for you that Derek didn't catch that. Something about him seemed familiar and Stiles made a mental note to look him up later.

Derek turned his laser eyes on Parker, getting straight to the point. He stood as he talked, forcing the others to look up at him. "You have news of the Cartel?"

"Well," Parker sat up a little straighter. "They're not happy, I can tell you that."

"They shouldn't have tried to fuck with us on that deal then. What were they expecting, a free handout? A fucking gift basket?" Ian barked, shark eyes flickering to Derek for a second as if seeking approval.

"I think they're more upset that we executed their men and left the bodies for the police to find," Parker remarked dryly. "Although maybe a basket of Uzis wrapped in little bows might make a better impression, White, you might be onto something. In my opinion, Boss, we jumped the gun on that one- quite literally."

Ian snorted, obviously easily agitated by Parker's retort. "So your opinion is what? We let them walk all over us? Bernadette has bigger balls than you, Sloan."

Bernadette said nothing, only smiled crookedly at the banter between them.

"Enough. Continue." Derek snapped, looking to Parker to finish his assessment. A look of displeasure crossed Ian's features as he folded his arms across his chest.

"As I was saying, my networks have heard whispers a strike back may be on its way. Other rumors suggest they're moving towards the city- a significant number including some prominent members."

"Let them come," Derek seemed unconcerned. "If they come within the city limits, they'll die. That goes for all parties interested in Beacon City- especially the ones we discussed earlier."

Stiles' ears perked up a little at that. Wonder who he means.

Ian nodded with enthusiasm. "I agree, Boss. No mercy and all that."

Parker didn't seem as pleased with the answer and squirmed uncomfortably. "With all due respect, isn't that an oversimplification of things? Especially when it comes to ..."

He trailed off as Derek just smiled coldly and reached into the box, pulling out thick manila folders with their names scribbled in the corners and placing one before each them. He looked at Parker. "This is a file on the Cartel that Stiles has put together for you. Known members, their families, their last sightings. Read it and start looking. Bernadette will assist you."

Parker definitely didn't look happy about it, especially as Bernadette looked at him across the table and winked without a bit of humor.

"The other is a guide to our own security systems- reworked locking mechanisms, defensive areas, door codes, the works. Study it. Identify our weakest points and fortify them accordingly. Any questions?"

Must be serious to put Derek on the defensive.

***************

Loud industrial music pounded against the walls of his room. A month ago Stiles had made the discovery that his room was apparently sound-proof, a fact that initially disturbed him but like all things to him now became simply accepted. It felt good to have the bass pulse into his feet, something to distract from the numbness. Sometimes he felt like he was in a cocoon, deaf and blind to what was going on around him.

He shifted in his chair, still sore from the night before. After Parker had called Derek to tell him of the deal gone bad, Derek had come to his room, eyes shining and crackling with energy. Death excited him- he seemed to feed off it and the knowledge that eight lives had just ended under his orders had him seeking Stiles out like a homing missile. It took three times for him to calm down, finally pulling Stiles' exhausted body in close as he fell asleep hours later. Stiles laid wide awake afterwards, even repeated orgasm not enough to soothe his tired mind. If I didn't feel so dirty every time we fucked it wouldn't be so bad.

It was a decently sized room, big enough for his bed and the desk he spent most of his time at. Behind it, a false window was lit up with a photo of a city view. Derek had it installed after Stiles had mentioned being underground all the time was depressing him. If he didn't know the man he'd of said the feature was a cruel joke but he sighed and said his thanks anyway. 

The opposite corner was dominated by black server towers that served as digital storage for the vast oceans of data he stole. His eyes roved over multiple screens, soaking up information as he read. He was going over their security features for the second time that day- needlessly since he could recall most of the highlights off the top of his head at this point.

To even break in, potential infiltrators would have to find them first.

Nearly in the center of the city, a complex series of tunnels left over from the prohibition era had been taken advantage of by the Argent family many years ago. The tunnels had been modernized, cleaned up, and extended so they ran right underneath and connected to the Argent manor among other key points throughout the city. It was in this nexus they now carried on their business. Most rooms were devoted to the goods they smuggled and sold but there was a small cafeteria and lounge that Stiles had only seen through cameras. Only Stiles and Derek himself had permanent rooms- everyone else came and went, retired to their own residences above ground during their down time.

No one had come forward with an interest in buying the empty property with the nationwide scandal Argent had left behind. Stiles still suspected Derek had a hand in that but had no interest in learning what measures were being taken to ensure it stayed that way.

Fortunately for him, most of their security was computerized, a fact he was sure didn't escape Derek mainly due to his own room having a heavy padlock and key rather than a digital system. Besides that, he had access to every door, every bit of surveillance, and Derek's latest splurge- mounted high-powered turrets that could be turned on at a moment's notice, programmed to mow down any intruder after an alert had been given. They had interested him for a while, having little experience with such militaristic equipment.

A little pinging sound alerted him to the fact that he had received an email. Stiles frowned. Nobody emails me ...not anymore at least. He opened his inbox, feeling a familiar sense of disquiet as he noticed a temporary email address right away. Deja vu swept over him, fingers hovering in the air above his keyboard where they trembled. After a moment of debating, he opened the message with a click and read:

**FR: a1530@rmqkr.net  
TO: me  
[no subject]**

**WE WILL PAY $75K FOR THE DEATH OF DEREK HALE. -野狐**

Stiles reread the words over several times. A cursory internet search revealed the characters used a signature were kanji for 'Nogitsune', some sort of evil spirit from Japanese folklore. Although it was admittedly curious someone had found his contact information, Stiles rolled his eyes and deleted the email without a further thought. I don't answer email from strangers anymore, buddy. Look where that got me- hell, look where that got the entire city.

As isolated as he was, Stiles did watch the news and hundreds of video feeds he hacked into, living vicariously as he watched and listened. Since Derek had taken over Argent's reins, the city appeared the same on the surface but the reality was that it was in some serious turmoil. Anyone with ties to the old Argent business was winding up dead in extremely public ways. The business with the Cartel on the docks was small change compared to some of Derek's other ...examples. He still remembered the informant that turned up floating in a park fountain- in pieces.

Then there was the fear that some of the murder and mayhem may have been his fault and it weighed heavily on his conscience. There was one he knew for sure was his own doing and every now and then he went in through hospital security cameras and watched as Jackson Whittemore slept. He had been in a coma for the past two months after being in a terrible car "accident" with his parents, neither of which survived. Sometimes he logged on to see Lydia sitting by the hospital bed, radiant as ever even through the grainy feed. He made himself watch until he felt too sick to look anymore.

Sometimes he caught his father on the television, looking tired and like a ghost of his former self and quickly changed the channel.

As he flicked through the surveillance feeds listlessly, one did catch his eye: outside some of the storage rooms, the guy who had carried the box of files for Derek earlier was loitering outside them, looking around as if to make sure he was alone. Have I got news for you otherwise. What's he looking for?

He opened the personnel database and quickly found one of the newer additions. 'Edward Roe' was now examining the locks on the doors and still looking about shiftily. Stiles scanned through the brief, uninteresting summary besides one note that informed him Edward Roe was completely mute- apparently due to some minor birth defect. Aged twenty-three, stints in various detention centers as a youth for minor crimes. Sounds about right, exactly the sort Derek likes to recruit.

A voice suddenly murmured in his ear. "What are you up to?"

Stiles jumped in his chair, heart racing wildly as Derek grinned into his hair. He didn't even hear the door open and close behind him.

"Did I scare you?"

"Y-yeah, you did." He said weakly, glancing at the surveillance to see the hallway was now deserted and wondering if Derek had noticed. Probably not- he'd be off to twist someone's head off by now.

"I'm sorry," Derek apologized, not sounding very sorry at all as he pressed kisses to Stiles' neck. "I'm leaving soon. I wanted to say goodbye."

Stiles exhaled in a quiet sigh, unable to help enjoying the feather light touches. "W-where are you going?"

"Outside the city. I won't be long. I should be back by tomorrow morning." Derek's arms curled around him, pulled him up and led him towards the bed where he was dragged into his lap. "Is there anything you need before I go?"

Stiles could hear Derek's heartbeat, his head on his chest as he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the feeling of being held. Derek's visits were the only time he could pretend there was nothing else outside his room- it was just him and Derek, that was all. No endless jobs, no outside world at all, no ever-increasing body count weighing him down. Okay let's try this again. He took in a deep breath.

"There is something."

Derek hummed and waited for Stiles to continue.

"I was thinking, maybe I could go outside sometime?" He waited, feeling as though he had hit a giant red button and it was only a matter of time before the bomb exploded.  
Derek stilled and his hold became a fraction tighter. "You want to leave."

Ah fuck, fuck, fuck. "Just to get some fresh air," Stiles implored, clutching his captor back just as tightly to emphasize his words. "You could take me with you on one of your trips or even just a little walk around the backyard- late at night, no one would see." He mentally sighed as he felt him relax.

Derek ran a hand over his hair and he made a noise of contentment though his question went unanswered. The 'S' tattooed on Derek's wrist passed in front of his eyes.

"Derek?"

"We'll see," Derek relented, giving him a small smile and calm again, mercurial as ever. "Maybe when it's safe again."

"Safe?" Now that's ironic.

Derek nodded. "You know there are ...other powers interested in the city right now. If they found out about you, how important you are, they would use you to get to me. I can't let that happen to us, Stiles." More like Dad found about me already and it makes you crazy. Well, crazier than usual.

"I understand," Stiles lied quietly, feeling a hot wash of guilt for his next question. "Do ...do you have to go?" Cuddle up to the one who's locked you away, Stilinski. Good job.

It was always this way since the night in the graveyard. Derek had nearly made love to him that night right on top of the freshly dug grave and there it had started: a dichotomy of emotions he couldn't help let alone even fathom. Even after everything that had happened, the people that had been driven away from him, the bystanders killed in cold blood, he still loved Derek. The man who had ruined his childhood and tormented his every waking thought since for years was finally gone. He was finally free of Carson and had Derek to thank for it- sometimes he felt that relief was worth the price he had paid for it. At the same time he warred with a constant guilt, a current of hatred and resentment that still ran beneath a shell of numbness.

"I'll be back soon." Derek spoke the words with a love apparent in the green eyes staring into his own. It only faltered briefly when his eyes squeezed shut for a second and a grimace passed through his features.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked, hesitant but still the words passed his lips.

"Nothing, just a headache coming on." Derek's smile, the one that usually only made an appearance for him, returned though Stiles guess by its tightness he was still in some pain.

"Do ...do you think we can stay like this a little longer? Please?" Stiles swallowed the disgust for himself- he hated sounding so needy but he knew Derek enjoyed it and besides, anything was better than the crippling loneliness he was always fighting off.

Derek made a sound of agreement, turning Stiles' chin upwards with hands the hacker had seen him use to snap a man's neck. He shuddered as their lips met gently at first, Derek quickly deepening the kiss as usual and one of them let out a muffled moan thankfully kept within the confines of his room. Derek's mouth was hot on his own, their tongues warm and pliant on the other, the scruff of Derek's stubble chafed against his skin but he couldn't care less. He pushed the images of corpses and fire and freshly dug graves out of his mind.

If there is a hell, you're definitely going to it.

***************

It had been hours since Derek left and according to the clock it was now after dark though Stiles wouldn't know either way. He sighed and turned off the light in his false window and drew the useless curtains closed to preserve the illusion. It's going to be one of those nights I just want to crawl out of my own skin, I just know it. He paced around a bit before sitting on the edge of the bed and staring into space. The playlist on his computer came to an end but he didn't put anything else on, welcoming the silence for the moment.

He knew the feeling partially stemmed from Derek being away and the thought irritated him. This is exactly what he wanted- you can't get away from him now, you need him to feel normal. How fucked up is that? It was strange to be able to rationalize the manipulation he knew was happening but still be unable to help what he felt. The first month he had curled up on the bed every day and wept, simply laying there and letting the pain wash over him. Now all the tears were dried up and gone. There was only a resigned acceptance. The heart wants what it wants sort of bullshit I guess.

A knock came at his door, startling Stiles out of his thoughts. The sounds of a key in the lock gave him a little thrill of nervousness as it turned and opened.

Edward stood in the doorway holding another box of old files Derek probably wanted him to go through, no doubt. Again Stiles was struck by something incredibly familiar about the guy but couldn't quite put his finger on it. I swear I've seen him somewhere before ...

Stiles realized he was waiting for him to say something. "Sorry," he muttered with a faint blush. "Just throw it down somewhere, doesn't matter."

The delivery was set down next to his desk and another appraising look was sent his way. As Edward turned to depart the keys in his hand jingled and an idea suddenly struck Stiles and he moved to use the opportunity while he had it.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?" He waited for a moment while Edward just stared at him and remembered he couldn't speak. "Uh, I don't think Derek gave me all the files I need. They're in the old archives downstairs and you have the key so-"

Edward nodded and turned away before Stiles continued hastily.

"It would be way quicker if I just came with you- those archives are a mess but I know what I'm looking for?"

The boy just stared and Stiles bit his lip.

"It'll be just between us, I promise. I won't let you get in shit or anything." Come on ...

He didn't look particularly pleased but nodded slowly and Stiles jumped to his feet.

They moved through the quiet halls- apparently most of the work was done for the day and not many people were still around. The fact that Edward was didn't escape him and he thought back to his sketchy behaviour earlier. It was also a little strange he had the degree of access he did for being relatively new. I'm onto you, buddy. It was incredibly refreshing though to deal with someone who wasn't Derek or wasn't terrified of angering the man.

Although Chris Argent modernized the business he took over from his father, Gerard was a big fan of internal paper trails and insisted on keeping written tabs and receipts on just about everything. It would've been an investigator's dream but back in the day it was kept behind a false wall, openable by pushing in a certain brick. This was what Derek had told him and it sounded like it was right out of a movie. It had since been gutted and outfitted with a proper door, now containing nothing more than a few pearls hidden in boxes and boxes of paper waste.

Edward unlocked the door, frowning silently at the dust and stale air that blew out at them. It wasn't often people went digging around down there and Stiles intended to use the time he had to the best of his ability- it also wasn't often Derek left him without a certain level of supervision. Luckily Edward was new and didn't treat him like a walking hand grenade.

"So ...this is it, I guess." He peered inside, unable to see much beyond a few rows of dusty shelves stuffed haphazardly with boxes and piles of paper. A light switch just inside the doorway did nothing so he took out his phone and turned on the flashlight. "Just wait here, I'll run in and grab what I need, okay?"

Edward seemed suddenly antsy, his eyes darting up and down the hall and Stiles chalked it up to fear of being caught.

"Hey, it's cool. I'll be a just a sec."

With that he ducked inside and tried not to breathe the musty air too deeply. Fuck this is gross. Over the years any sort of organizational system seemed to have been completely abandoned and he could see it was going to take a while to find much of anything. Ah well, I'm already here.

Stiles had to admit he was surprised Derek hadn't torched the entire lot- he was big on efficiency and getting things done, so having a room that was essentially a dusty, useless book didn't make a whole lot of sense to him. Something about the room had stood out to him ever since they had taken up residence there.

He ran a finger along the label of a box, wiping the thick grey layer of dust off on his pants with a grimace. At the tops of the shelves he could see cobwebs spanning the length of the room, the spiders having unlimited time to build their nests undisturbed by people. He lifted the cover off gingerly, all too aware of the potential avalanche of dust if he moved things around too aggressively. Most of the papers inside seemed to be various financial records- accounts owed to the Argents, spending budgets on public projects and criminal enterprises alike.

After nearly twenty minutes he was about to call it off when something caught his eyes. At the very back of the room a small locker sat, combination lock shiny and new in comparison to its surroundings. Interesting. Stiles looked at it thoughtfully, giving the lock a yank and being pleasantly surprised- whoever had put it on last hadn't spun the dial and it simply popped open at his touch.

Inside was a stack of paper he began to skim through, stopping dead when he saw Derek's name over and over along with another he found familiar- Derek's uncle, Peter Hale. It was an exhaustive portfolio on the two men and Stiles felt his pulse quicken at what he held in his hands. Forgetting where he was or Edward still waiting at the entrance, he sat down on the dirty floor. Phone in hand, he shone the light down at his lap and began to read from the beginning.


	3. Leave A Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm well aware i'm a danger to myself  
> are you aware i'm a danger to others?  
> there's a crack in my soul  
> you thought was a smile 
> 
> (I'm just a painting that's still wet)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I'm so sorry it's been so long! This story is not dead or abandoned, I promise. Life got in the way for a while but now I should be back on a steady schedule of updates- hopefully every other week at the latest. Thanks for sticking around, hope it was worth the wait. :)

It was summertime and the signs were obvious besides the weather itself. Peppering the neatly manicured lawns were laughing, screaming children playing in sprinklers. There was a barbecue happening on one of the patios close by where parents kept a lazy eye on the kids, sipping cold drinks and talking among themselves. All in all, it was what you would think of when someone would describe an area as being "a nice neighborhood".

A couple streets over, the distant sound of an ice cream truck sent a fresh wave of shrill cries through them as they ran in all directions seeking money from their parents. A flurry of them descended on the group of adults across the street who were amused as they handed out bills and spare change over the railing to their children who took off in search of cool treats.

All of them except one.

"Don't you want an ice cream, Derek?"

The boy who stood and watched his fellows take off peered up silently, almost curiously at the man who spoke to him.

"No." The man seemed to find that amusing- Derek didn't understand what was so funny about his answer.

"Why not?"

Derek frowned, trying with difficulty to identify the right words. "I just don't."

The man watched the kids screaming and jostling each other as they fought for position as the truck pulled up to a stop, song jingling on merrily. "They do look very silly, don't they?"

"Yes." Derek watched too, nodding very seriously.

"Do you remember who I am?"

"You're Uncle Peter."

"That's right," the man smiled. "You know, you're very mature for your age, Derek. I can tell."

He sighed. "I know- Mom says that a lot."

"Your mother is a smart woman- when it comes to some things."

A woman had left the barbecue while they spoke and was stalking over now, anger and hostility radiating from her as she approached.

"Derek, sweetie, go get yourself an ice cream." She gently commanded as she pressed a few coins into his hand though her eyes burned into the man standing behind her son in the shade of a large poplar tree.

"But I don't want one."

"Derek," she hissed. "Now, please."

The boy left without another word at his mother's bidding, walking away at a slow pace.

"Hello 'Susan'." He smiled toothily, mirrored sunglasses shielding his eyes.

The woman glared. "What are you doing here, Peter?"

Peter held up his hands like he was surrendering. "I can't come visit my sister, my nephew?"

"According to the restraining order, yes."

"Oh come on, Talia. It's been years. How can you still be cross with me?"

Talia crossed her arms, expression still hard. "It's 'Susan' now, Peter. I left 'Talia' behind in Beacon City."

"You're a blonde now- did you leave your brown hair back there too?" He joked for a second, smiling losing a bit of its lustre when she said nothing. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

"Well," Peter looked her over with a chuckle. "You certainly play the part of suburban housewife admirably, I'll give you that." He nodded to Derek who stood still as a statue behind the others, waiting patiently for an ice cream he didn't want. "How is he? He's what, eleven now?"

Talia sighed, clearly not wanting to get into the subject. "Derek's turning ten next month. He's fine."

"He looks like a little robot."

"He does not," Talia's eyes flashed dangerously. "He's just a little ...serious for his age."

Peter raised an eyebrow as Derek's earlier words were nearly parroted back to him. "Right."

"It's the medication," Talia mumbled, looking suddenly ashamed.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

She cleared her throat, looking back at her son sadly. "I said it's the medication he's on, you bastard."

"Medicating a ten year old, Talia? My goodness."

"You haven't been around- you don't know what he gets like." Talia pointed a finger at him angrily. "You think I want this for him? I don't- but he needs it. His teachers, the kids at school, they were afraid of him, Peter. Afraid of a child. We had to switch schools twice. I can't ...I can't do it anymore. He's doing better now. He's fine."

"According to who?" Peter asked the question almost gently, aware of the pain he was dredging up as tears prickled at his sister's eyes.

Talia shook her head as if trying to get Peter's words out of her head. "You need to leave, Peter. Now."

Peter scoffed, backing up a couple steps. "Where's the fiery bombshell I grew up with? You used to be something, Talia. What are you now besides stuck here playing house in this boring little subdivision?"

"Married," Talia smiled sadly. "I'm happily married, Peter. I have a family. When I got pregnant with Laura, that was bad enough but I knew I had to get out when Derek was born. There's no room for children in our- your line of work."

"What happened, Talia? We had a good thing going, and if you thought it was good then, my god, business is booming back in the city. You still have a place there, you know. You need only reclaim it. The whole family can come, Richard too if you like."

Talia shook her head. "Go. Just go, Peter. This is my home now. I'm good with what I have."

"Disappointing." Peter shrugged as he continued to back away. "It's a waste of your talents, sister. A waste."

"Please don't come back here." Talia watched her brother walk away, feeling cold despite the sun beating down. No matter how hard she had tried, her past still reared its ugly head from time to time. She knew Richard was entertaining their neighbors now, keeping them from getting too curious and she was incredibly grateful. All her husband knew was that she didn't have a good relationship with her brother and he mercifully left it at that. She smiled, watching him tell stories all of them had heard many times but were still beloved. Richard was a warm man, a good father. She didn't deserve him.

Behind her, a soft crunching of grass signalled her son's return.

"Mom?"

She put a smile on before she turned around, kneeling down and greeting him. "Hey, sweetie. Are you having fun?"

Derek shrugged. "Where is uncle Peter going?"

Talia bit her lip, cursing her brother in her head. "Your uncle had to go back to the city. He just stopped by to say hi to ...us." She trailed off, watching the popsicle in Derek's hand drip red as it melted in the sun. He made no move to eat it or clean himself, simply watched as the sticky redness ran down his fingers to fall to the sidewalk below.

"Sweetheart, you're getting messy." She held out her hand and gave his smaller hand a squeeze in her own. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" She looked away from the green eyes that stared back at her flatly, as if she were part of the background and wondered if the unease that crawled over her skin made her a bad mother.

***************

_"MOM!"_

_Talia's heart rushed up into her throat as Laura's cry came from the backyard. She nearly dropped the plate she was washing in her haste. Richard had just come up from the basement carrying the laundry basket and hadn't heard it, only looked on in confusion as she ran down the hall towards the back porch._

_"Laura? Where are you?"_

_"Over here! Mom, come quick!" Laura's panicked voice came through the screen door that Talia threw open seconds later, uncaring as it rattled harshly in its frame._

_She stopped, seeing her daughter at the foot of the stairs. Laura seemed all in one piece, only the expression of disgust on her face let on that anything was wrong. "Laura? Are you okay?"_

_Laura nodded hesitantly, pink backpack clutched tightly against her chest. She pointed at the bottom of the steps and Talia could see the source of all the drama: a rabbit lay dead on the bottom step, blocking Laura's path into the house. The small black eyes were wide open and staring off into space, brown fur dirty and matted with blood._

_"Oh sweetheart, a dog must have gotten to him. Poor little rabbit," Talia looked at its small body with pity. "Come around the front, I'll get your Dad to get rid of it."_

_"Gross." Laura scowled one last time at the corpse that had interrupted her and spun on her heel, running around to the front of the house._

_Talia shook her head and went back inside to inform her husband what had happened._

_"What was all that about?" Richard called out from the living room as soon as he heard the back door close. He stood behind the couch, folding their clean clothing into neat piles._

_"Laura found a dead rabbit on the steps."_

_Richard winced. "Ah, that's what was wrong with her. I see she wasn't impressed."_

_"Not at all," Talia agreed, giving him a peck on the cheek. "I told her you'd deal with it though, that seemed to cheer her up."_

_"Oh you did, did you?" He groaned. "I'll get it- since I've been volunteered."_

_Richard went out back to see what he had to work with and was surprised to see Derek there, staring down at the small corpse._

_"Sad, huh?"_

_Derek looked up into his father's eyes while the man tutted and shook his head. Inside, he could hear his mother comforting Laura._

_"But it's sort of an inevitable thing, I guess."_

_"What does that mean?" Derek inquired softly, eyes falling onto the rabbit's blank gaze._

_"'Inevitable'?" Richard thought. "If something is inevitable, it means that no matter what, it's going to happen sooner or later. In this case, it's the circle of life- something bigger and stronger than the rabbit thought it'd be dinner before we probably scared it off. Does that make sense?"_

_Derek nodded slowly, as a feeling of deep understanding and a peculiar excitement thrilled him. "Yeah." He understood. The rabbit was weak- it was in its nature to let stronger animals take advantage of its weakness. He wondered if people were the same way._

_"I need to go get some gloves and a bag, I'll be right back. Don't touch, alright?" Richard went back inside, leaving Derek to his macabre thoughts._

_The rabbit had been bit around its throat, its neck bloody and broken. It reminded him of the hamster his class kept for a pet at his old school. It always ran away from him when he tried to hold it and soon the teacher got angry with him for holding it too tightly. He wasn't allowed to open the cage at all after that. This one was different- it would never run away from him._

 

 

_Richard was pulling on the gloves when Derek came through the front door, looking over at his parents briefly before making his way up the stairs._

_"Hey sweetheart," Talia called. "How was school?"_

_"It was okay. I'm going to do my homework now."_

_"Sure, dinner's in an hour, okay?"_

_"Okay."_

_They watched him leave and looked at each other as soon as he was out of sight. While they were happy Derek did very well with his schoolwork, there seemed to be something ...child-like missing from their son. Peter's words haunted Talia in moments like these._

_"Huh."_

_Talia turned towards her husband, trying to keep her thoughts pleasant. "What is it?"_

_"Guess whatever got to that rabbit came back to finish the job."_

_Talia froze for a second, eyes darting to the second floor where her son was then kicked out her suspicions viciously. There was no way and she was almost ashamed for thinking it._

_"Makes my day a little easier." Richard quipped cheerfully and Talia wished she could echo his lack of concern with something more than a tight smile._

 

 

_Upstairs, Derek closed his bedroom door with a quiet click. His room was unusually spartan for a child his age- no posters adorned the walls and no mess littered the floor. There was little clue to his interests if any besides a computer at a desk and a few shelves lined with books. One book was open on his bed, its pages dog-eared and obviously often poured over. It was a book on the anatomy of the human body, open to the diagram of a human heart._

_He set his backpack on his desk and opened it, looking curiously at the soft, brown fur within and wondered how similar rabbits were to people._

***************

_In high school, Derek found himself with a reputation. He was always alone and given a wide berth by the other students. He enjoyed the way he'd walk by and the conversations would quiet, the way they'd look at him with apprehension. Even his teachers would find it difficult to look him in the eye when they spoke to him. Despite all this, he did attract certain people to him- outsiders, kids with authority issues, and the like. They almost looked up to him and they hung around casually, greeted him, offered him cigarettes behind the school. Besides these casual acquaintances, there was one that he could call a friend._

_Jake Price wanted to be a bad seed so desperately you could almost smell it on him. He was small for his age but made up for it with personality and false bravado. He'd get into fights he knew he had no chance of winning just to grin through a bloody nose the rest of the afternoon. He wore ripped up jeans and band shirts, hair always sticking up any which way in a carefully styled mess, often eyeliner applied messily around his eyes. Ever since they met, he had made it his personal mission to get in good with the boogeyman of the school and he actually succeeded._

_At first Derek tolerated his presence, waiting for his general aura to drive the other boy away but he stuck to him and soon it became routine to have Jake walking along in his shadow, chatting about stealing from his parents' liquor cabinet and which teachers they hated the most. Sometimes he even gave a short reply other than a grunt of acknowledgment._

_One day after school it changed._

_They were sitting on the bleachers, everyone else had gone home. Jake's father was an alcoholic and prone to sudden rages so when he could avoid his own house he did so. Derek had no preference to where he was at any given moment so it worked out for both of them perfectly just sitting, doing not much of anything._

_Jake puffed on a cigarette, the two of them staring out at the empty football field. A breeze pulled his bangs into his eyes for a moment and he brushed them away almost impatiently. They sat quietly until Jake nodded at a group of girls who went to school with them walking down the sidewalk._

_"That's Holly over there," he commented, not surprised when Derek offered no insight of his own. "Man, she's got killer legs, huh?"_

_Derek frowned, still silent but his eyes did follow them until they were gone around a corner out of their line of sight._

_Jake watched Derek carefully, gauged some hidden clue in his face or body language._

_Derek turned his head back and met Jake's eyes._

_Jake leaned in suddenly planting his lips on Derek's. It was a messy kiss, unsure and lacking any sort of finesse, filled with nervous energy. It only lasted a couple seconds and as he pulled away his expression was screwed up with anxiety._

_Derek was surprised and had a sudden urge to touch his own lips in wonder at the sensation._

_"I'm sorry," Jake got to his feet, hopping down the bleachers as he stormed away, too afraid to look back as he ran home. "I'm sorry."_

_Derek watched him go, making no move to stop him though his heart did beat a little faster as he watched his only friend run from him and the fear of his rejection. He felt powerful and vulnerable all at once- a curious mixture._

 

 

_Interesting sounds were coming from down the hall. Derek hadn't been sleeping, just looking up at the ceiling and thinking about his very first kiss, trying to process and digest the experience. He swung his legs out of bed and opened his door as quietly as he could. A creak made him stop and wait but it seemed to be fine so he moved down the hall, bare feet pleasantly cool on the wooden flooring._

_The noises were coming from Laura's room. His sister had just started university and was home for Thanksgiving weekend with her boyfriend, Matthew. Their parents had agreed to let him spend the night after a whole lot of begging and pleading from their elder child._

_He turned the knob slowly, cracking the door and nudging it open until a stripe of Laura's darkened room was revealed to him: two shapes moved together under her sheets, Laura's face coming into view. Her arms stretched behind her, her mouth an 'o' and her eyes closed in apparent pleasure- until they weren't and the siblings made eye contact. Surprise came over his sister's face until it melted into anger._

_"WHAT THE FUCK, DEREK- GET OUT! GET OUT!"_

_As he hastily retreated to his own room, he smiled to himself. He wondered what sort of noises he could draw out of Jake._

 

 

_For weeks Jake avoided him and Derek didn't seek him out, still mulling over the unfamiliar feelings. His friend would see him coming and dash around corners in hallways like a frightened animal._

_One day he followed Jake into the boys bathroom, smiling when the other boy paled and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Derek in the mirror behind him. He started to babble apologies, afraid of ruining their friendship, his reputation or perhaps just scared of Derek in general. An alchemy of all three were the most likely, one he silenced by grabbing Jake by the neck and pulling him into a searing kiss. He wasn't sure about the technique of it all but by the way the other boy melted into his touch he assumed he had done something right._

_Jake's hand found its way behind him, clinging to his coat for only a moment before Derek seized it in one of his own, slamming Jake into the wall and pressed the captured limb into the wall until he felt the bones of his knuckle grind into the hard surface. The whimper he was rewarded with was swallowed up by his searching tongue and he found his own excitement was dialed up a notch. He felt Jake's tongue move weakly against his own as if he had realized any battle for dominance was going to be hopelessly one-sided._

_Derek only pulled back when the sounds of approaching footsteps reached them. The other boy who entered the bathroom pay them no heed, vanishing into one of the stalls. Derek grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he watched Jake's wide eyes. The other boy was red faced and panting for breath, eyes darting from the stalls and back to Derek. They were still standing there as the other left, a curious glance was quickly curbed as Derek's presence was accounted for and soon enough it was just the two of them._

_"Derek," Jake started quietly, a slight tremor running through his voice. "I ..thought you-"_

_"No," Derek shook his head, lip curling upwards in a smirk. "No."_

 

 

_Weeks of passing moments- making out in the school bathrooms, behind the school between cigarettes shared together, fingers cautiously knotted together on the bus- had finally led him here. He was happier, felt more than he'd believed was possible for someone like him. Even his family noticed his unusually buoyant mood manifesting itself._

_"Mom?"_

_The entire family paused a second. They sat around the dining table, eating together as Talia insisted they do. It was rare for Derek to speak in general, let alone during a time usually dominated by Laura's day and his parent's commentary._

_"Can I have a friend over tonight?"_

_Richard raised an eyebrow at his wife, a little smile playing about his lips as he ate._

_"Um, sure, honey. It is a Friday after all." Talia smiled, warmed at the thought of Derek having a friend. "Who's your friend?"_

_"Jake." Derek's attention had gone back to the mashed potatoes on his plate and neither Talia or Richard felt the need to grill their son for any more information about it, both pleased he now apparently had a social circle. Or at least the beginnings of one._

 

 

_"Are you sure-"_

_Hot, fevered lips muffled Jake's question. Derek bit his bottom lip, worried it between his teeth until he pulled away with a wet sucking sound. "They're downstairs," he panted out. "Watching a movie. They can't hear us."_

_Jake was on his bed, trapped under him and divested of his shirt. He struggled to quiet himself as Derek explored his body with his mouth- his tongue rough and animal-like as it swathed across his nipples. "D-Derek!"_

_Derek grinned up at him, licking across the taut flesh of his stomach. This was a power trip like nothing else he had experienced. He could play this body like a violin and hear it respond to his every touch, his every whim. All he had to do was map it out, find the edges and push the boundaries until every inch was his and his alone._

_His fingers crawled around Jake's shoulders and massaged the skin, his grip slowly growing stronger until he could feel the bones underneath. Still, the other boy moaned and whispered his name until he couldn't any longer- Derek's fingers closed around his throat and blocked off his airway. He could feel the exact moment the pleasure turned into fear and felt himself grow painfully aroused as Jake's body bucked up against his own in a fight for breath._

_Jake's eyes bulged out, panic and terror distorting his features as he tried to pry Derek's hands away but he wasn't strong enough and losing more each second that passed. Finally, as he began to slacken and tiny black dots swam across his eyes, Derek released him and nuzzled into his neck as he gasped for the delicious air his body desperately needed. He shoved Derek off him with some difficulty and got to his feet, upset as Derek simply lay on the bed, looking at him and smiling._

_"What the fuck was that?" He demanded angrily, rubbing at his throat tenderly. Derek shrugged, offering no explanation besides his smile and tented pants. Jake plucked his shirt from the bedroom floor and threw it on, turning to grab his backpack as well with trembling hands. "I've gotta go." The sooner he got away from Derek, the better. It was both the predominant thought in his head and feeling in his gut._

_Derek felt an icy chill come over him and found himself rising off the bed. As Jake grasped for his bag in the darkened room, Derek moved to stand in front of the door. He turned the lock quietly and tried to breathe evenly as his friend stilled._

_"Derek ..." Jake swallowed, Derek's eyes watching the movement under the flesh of his throat. Both of them knew Derek was stronger and the air in the bedroom thickened with tension and fear. "Derek, I have to go."_

_"No." Derek spit, gasped out the word between gritted teeth. The coppery taste of blood rolled across his tongue- he had bitten the inside of his cheek. Jake couldn't leave- he was Derek's, if he left he wouldn't come back, wouldn't explore these new feelings anymore-_

_"Der-"_

_-he'd be alone, trapped inside his own head with all these desires, these forbidden thoughts always surging until he thought his heart would burst. The things in his mind overtaking him, crowding him-_

_Jake's fingers dug into his own but Derek couldn't see them- couldn't feel them. The smaller boy fought against the hands like claws around his throat but it was useless. He could feel the pains in his chest as his lungs struggled to pull in air. Derek's bedroom got darker and darker and then-_

_Derek drew in a sharp breath, his whole body humming as Jake's body slumped to the floor. Where there was life, there was now only a glassy blankness present in his eyes. Derek's back hit the door and he slid down to join the corpse on his floor, heart pounding. His thoughts came in rapidly, firing off in his skull and then fading away just as quickly. Jake was dead. He had killed his friend. He had taken a life- and this was no rabbit. Rabbits didn't leave behind grieving families that demanded explanations.  
The thought sobered him immediately and Derek knew he had to piece together what he was going to do._

 

 

_"Derek? Your father and I are going to bed now. Company goes home soon, okay?"_

_Derek stared at the body propped up against his bed with a frown as he answered his mother's voice through the door. "Yeah, Jake's leaving now, Mom."_

_He waited for the footsteps to fade and the creak of his parent's bedroom door before he moved, marveling at how fast the heat had left Jake's body. His hands closed around cold wrists as he maneuvered the corpse onto an old comforter. He worked quickly, securing the limbs and making sure it was wrapped as tightly as possible._

_It was as though someone else was disposing of his friend. Like watching a film, Derek wasn't the one hunting for scissors and duct tape. He wasn't the one easing open the door, listening for any sound of his family milling about the house. He didn't count the floorboards, avoiding the older ones that would protest noisily under his feet._

_Derek took a deep breath at the top of the stairs before going down backwards, slowly dragging his burden after him. He knew he would soon be done with the task and it pumped fresh adrenaline into his muscles. In a few moments, he'd be tasting the night air and letting the chill wash over his skin as he dragged Jake away to some dark, secret place._

_The back door creaked as it opened and Derek had only a couple feet left to go, Jake's body outside down to his knees when he saw Laura._

_Derek had been too preoccupied with the last difficult part of his journey to notice his sister had gotten up in the night for a glass of water. She silently walked across the kitchen, barefoot in her pajamas and he held his breath, knowing any movement would immediately attract her attention. He was almost in the clear- Laura had one hand on the banister and would have soon left his vision but for whatever reason, she turned and looked directly his way._

_The siblings looked into each other's face, Laura's eyes squinting at the person-shaped lump Derek's hands were still clenched tightly around. Her mouth dropped open, fear spilling across her features and it was then he knew his sister had guessed what he had done. Neither of them spoke as Derek dropped the body where it lay and straightened up, expression as blank as the lack of emotion he felt. He backed up a step and waited for Laura to call for their parents, to scream, to give him away but there was nothing. She just continued to look at him as though she was paralyzed._

_It was the last time they saw each other._

***************

_The bar was noisy as usual. Usually Derek preferred the quiet but every now and then he needed to lose himself in a crowd of people. He sat against a wall and ignored the rumblings in his stomach- tried to stop himself from calculating how long it had been since he had last eaten._

_It had been almost a year now since he had left home in the middle of the night. Where he was exactly, he couldn't say. He drifted through small towns, stealing money when he needed it, hitchhiking down dark roads when his surroundings suddenly became oppressive and there was nothing that could distract him from his own thoughts. Since he left, Derek only had more questions about himself. Why was he different? Why did he struggle with these urges? Did other people simply hide them deep inside, better than he did?_

_"Derek?"_

_He startled violently at the sound of his name, an unfamiliar sound to him now. Derek began to panic- the man addressing him knew who he was, would make him go back home to face the consequences that surely awaited him still. He didn't recognize the man who now smiled crookedly at his confusion- not until he introduced himself._

_"Tell me you didn't forget your favorite Uncle."_

_Derek swallowed the lump of nervousness caught in his throat. "Uncle Peter?"_

_Peter grinned and took a seat at Derek's table. "That's right. Now, I'm very interested to hear why my Nephew is so far from home, alone and scrounging in the gutters."_

_Derek was about to protest but knew his Uncle was right- he was living like a scavenger and hearing someone else say it out loud made the back of his neck burn with shame. As for why he had abandoned his family, he wasn't quite sure how to even begin explaining._

_"It's okay, I know what happened, Derek."_

_"You ...do?" Derek mumbled, confused and unable to look Peter in the eye while he was unsure of where the conversation was going._

_Peter nodded, a grave note entering his voice. "You made ...an error. A serious error."_

_"I killed him," Derek muttered. "There's ...there's something wrong with me, Uncle Peter."_

_Peter smiled at a passing waitress before turning his attention back to Derek. "No, my dear boy, there's nothing wrong with you."_

_"Mom, Laura-"_

_"Wouldn't understand." Peter interrupted gently._

_Derek mulled over the words, looking up warily. "But you would?"_

_"I would. You made a mistake, Derek. It happens."_

_"It's ...worse than that though, isn't it?"_

_Peter shrugged. "It may be an ...over-simplification, but you're young, unsure of your own nature, surrounded by people who don't understand who you are. It's only to be expected, my young Nephew. Frankly, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."_

_Derek huffed out a breath, growing increasingly frustrated in his confusion. "It doesn't matter anyway, I can't go back now."_

_"No," Peter agreed. "That's probably for the best." He stopped as if struck by a sudden thought. "Actually, you could- no, never mind. I'm overstepping- I can hear your mother scolding me in my head."_

_"No, what?" Derek's curiosity was piqued and it had been so long since he had spoken to another person- and maybe for the first time someone was actually understanding him. Maybe Peter understood him better than he himself did._

_Peter smiled. "I was going to say, I have a room over at the Bayview. Why don't you come stay with me for a while? I assume you don't have a roof over your head at the moment ...?" As Derek looked away he nodded easily. "Come stay with me for a little while and we'll figure out your next move together, how does that sound?"_

_Derek looked up, stunned at the offer. "Why are you helping me?"_

_Peter scoffed. "What's family for? Come on, let's get going. There's a lot to discuss. I may be able to get you a job as well, if you're interested."_

_A job- Derek hadn't considered it, so lost in his own head. "I don't think I'll be any good." It wasn't like he had developed any skills while on the run._

_Peter grinned, slapping Derek on the back as he led him out into the night. "No, I think you'll do just fine in this line of work."_

***************

_Steam from the sewers billowed out through the open manhole, thick and foul smelling. The buildings of Beacon City rose around them, stretching towards the sky with scattered windows lit up like hundreds of stars._

_"You remember where we're going?"_

_Derek walked beside his Uncle, nodding as he recited the address. It was his first job out in the field- nothing too exciting, just some standard collection. Peter had recruited him into working for a man named Gerard Argent, some crime boss of apparent importance to the city's criminal underworld. Derek still didn't even know a lot of what went on within their organization- information was controlled on a need-to-know basis which suited him just fine. He was content to quietly prove himself. Sometimes he privately imagined ascending through the ranks, making something of himself among those who wouldn't shy away from what he was._

_Peter had explained it to him, patiently mentoring him in the months since they had reunited. He understood what he was now- a predator. A wolf that merely looked like a man. Since the epiphany had taken hold, Derek had flowered into himself. He trained himself every day, body and mind until he was too exhausted to continue. His body had hardened- a naturally large frame now filled out with muscle. He had made himself into a powerful instrument and was ready to give it some much deserved use._

_Peter rolled his neck as they came to the garage where their quarry currently hid. "Let me do the talking, Derek. We'll see if we can keep this civil."_

_Derek nodded as Peter knocked, forcing himself to adopt a relaxed posture though every inch of him was taut and aching with rising adrenaline._

_The sound of Peter's fist banging on the metal door was clanging and harsh as it echoed through the alley. At first there was nothing, but Derek could hear the sounds of people moving within, speaking in hushed whispers._

_"Robert? I know you're in there." Peter studied his fingernails, drawling lazily. "You knew well in advance that this was coming. It's time to pay up now."_

_A thin reedy voice warbled in reply. "I have the money- tell Argent I have the money, it's just- it's not here, but I can get it soon I just need a little more-"_

_Peter shook his head, withdrawing a pistol from inside his jacket. Derek fought against the excitement he felt, standing to the side of the door. Peter had wanted him to carry a weapon but Derek was uninterested in being armed. He had a suspicion the weapon would take away from the experience and it had been so terribly long since the last time ..._

_"You know that's not how this works. It's simple: you pay, or ...you don't." Peter paused but there was no answer, only further sounds of the inhabitants scrambling around inside. "Ah well."_

_Peter shot off the padlock of a side door, quickly stepping inside and releasing another round at the nearest and apparently only armed member of the trio hiding from them. He sighed as the man fell to the floor with a gurgle, likely drowning in the blood that was flowing into his now punctured lung. "We could have avoided all this unpleasantness, Robert."_

_The man called Robert and his remaining associate had tried to escape through a back exit but the building was old and the door seemed to be rusted shut._

_"Peter, please." Robert seemed to vibrate with fear and that suited Derek just fine. The other man withdrew a switchblade and held it out in front of him, brandishing it in the Hale's direction._

_Derek almost laughed at him- the man's arm shook too obviously. He pressed forward, unafraid as he easily disarmed the man. There was a sickening crack that accompanied the cry of pain as Derek broke three fingers in reply. The knife skidded across the floor until it stopped at Robert's feet but he made no attempt to go for it- not with Peter's gun still at the ready._

_"Last chance, Robert. The money, please."_

_"I told you-" Robert trailed off as Derek broke the man's arm, a fresh wail of pain drowning out the conversation._

_"Nephew? I can't interrogate with all that racket." Peter raised an eyebrow._

_Derek breathed in deeply, his hands wrapping easily around the man's neck and memories came flooding back to him. He was sure his fingers digging into flesh was painful in itself- wondered which was winning out, the iron grip or the broken arm dangling useless beside him? With a sharp tug, he could feel the bones in his hands snap and the intoxicating power that came with ending another life with his bare hands. The man was weak. He was a rabbit and Derek was a wolf. It was their nature to end up like they were._

_Peter winced at the display of violence but shrugged it off easily enough. "I suppose that works."_

 

 

_"How did it go with our friend?"_

_Gerard Argent was hunched over a desk piled with ledgers, glasses shining in the light as he poured over columns of numbers while he waited for an answer._

_Peter cleared his throat and gave a sideways glance at Derek who stood grinning beside him. He could have described the last terror-filled moments of Robert's life, Derek picking up the knife at his feet with exaggerated care- but he spoke slowly and kept his account pointedly vague. "There won't be any more trouble with his payments, put it that way."_

_Gerard slowly turned around, resting the pen in his hand on the desk. "By your tone I assume Mr. Landon is deceased?"_

_Peter gave his Nephew a look. "He is."_

_"Young man," Gerard narrowed his eyes as he studied his newest employee. The lighting made the lines on his face deepen until he resembled some totem carved of wood. He knew right away what had happened- you had to be intuitive to excel in their work. "You would do well to learn some restraint when it comes to those who owe us something."_

_A woman spoke from behind them and Derek turned in surprise, taking in a smiling brunette. She wore a clinging red dress that left little to the imagination and moved in no hurry but Derek knew right away that she was like him. She wore the pretty dress like camouflage but she was a lioness- a predator as well._

_"Oh I don't know, Dad. I find it ...refreshing. We should make examples more often- it might help us out in the long run." She spoke to Gerard but her eyes never left Derek's the entire exchange._

_"Kate-" Gerard began to grumble but Derek wasn't listening. He was entranced by the way 'Kate' invaded his personal space. The way she ran a finger along his leather jacket still splattered with tiny flecks of blood and winked. He knew then that she was special, that one way or another their paths would converge again and again, twisted and gnarled together._

 

 

_Their relationship began like some natural disaster- fast, violent, powerful. She came to him in the middle of the night with her ever-present gleam of a smile and a whispered word. It was like nothing he had ever dreamed and so different from the energies he and Jake had shared. Kate showed him things, taught him lessons in sweat and secret pleasures. She rewarded him when he did a good job or took an initiative that surprised and delighted her._

_Peter expressed concerns when they had moments of privacy but Derek was unconcerned, focused on the luxury, the ecstasy of his new life. Every day was an exploration in pain and pleasure, all at his fingertips like some terrible god exercising the powers at his command with every whim._

_It still came as a surprise when it all fell apart._

***************

_Gerard's health had been declining for some time, leaving most of the day-to-day operations to his children, Kate and Chris, as well as Peter who had worked with the man for quite some time. No one was terribly shocked when the patriarch died in his sleep early one morning of an apparent heart attack. Kate had been upset, had run to Derek's arms for comfort and he ignored the wicked glee that danced in her eyes despite the tears that ran down her cheeks while Chris stood nearby, impassive in the face of his father's death._

_Everything was all business for a while until it came out that Peter was to take command._

_It all seemed to happen so fast- one night Derek panted under Kate as they took their pleasure from the other, the next he was being forced to his knees and could only look at his bound and gagged Uncle, helpless to stop the gasoline being poured over him by a laughing Kate who struck a match with fingers that had so often caressed him._

_"I'm going to kill you." He stated the intent as fact, simple and irrefutable._

_Kate was amused, not threatened in the least with her brother and a dozen loyal men standing around her. "Sure you will, handsome." She directed her gaze at the two who held him in place and gave a sharp nod. "Get him out of here- and make sure it's clean, boys- just liked we discussed earlier. I don't want it to be too messy."_

_As they dragged him away, he watched as the flame met gas, heard the low sucking of air as it ignited mixing with Peter's muffled screams of pain. He wondered dully how long Kate and her brother had been planning their coup. Chris' dispassionate eyes met his one last time and looking into them reminded Derek of winter, of frozen lakes. He wondered if his own reminded Chris of a void, an absence of light._

 

 

_They drove towards the docks. He knew the way there well enough, a lot of their business dealings were done with product coming in straight off the ships as they docked. Though he was blindfolded, Derek counted the turns and the number of times the car stopped at red lights. Kate's people had handcuffed him and from what he could tell there were four of them in the car. Two men sat in the backseat on either side of him, one man in the passenger seat, and a woman he hadn't seen before driving them to their destination. For a while he simply sat back in silence and listened._

_'Passenger Seat' lit up a cigarette, ignored 'Lefty's' protests but cracked his window and a burst of night air invaded the vehicle interior. He could feel 'Lefty' shift beside him, fidgeting every twenty seconds or so. The man was nervous and the thought that he was scared of Derek made him bite back a grin. The downside was that 'Lefty' was clutching his weapon rather closely and every sharp turn the muzzle would dig into Derek's ribs. He would have to be taken out of the equation._

_'Righty' was more relaxed, trying repeatedly to strike up conversation with 'Driver' who gave curt, dismissive replies that Derek could sympathize with- 'Righty' was obnoxious and Derek was already looking forward to killing him. The prattle only ceased when 'Passenger Seat' told him to shut up and be professional. 'Passenger' was no-nonsense- he obviously took his job seriously, probably more so than any of his companions. All four of them seemed rather young and inexperienced, something he could definitely use to his benefit._

_Derek estimated they only had about fifteen minutes or so til they reached the docks. He guessed they were simply going to execute him and weigh his body down in the harbor waters- if they even bothered. They might just let his corpse float wherever it may until the sight of his bloated body scarred some passerby for life. No, he had to make them stop the car._

_"Hey." He spoke softly and bit back another smile as he felt 'Lefty' twitch beside him._

_"Shut up." 'Passenger' barked. Derek wondered if the man had heard of him, knew of his reputation as well as 'Lefty' apparently did. He tried to recall what he did to the last person who spoke to him like that but abandoned the thought and focused on his current predicament._

_"Do you smell that?" Derek kept his voice and body language calm, nonthreatening. He was asking an innocent question, nothing more._

_'Passenger' was still annoyed anyway. "I said shut up. Or do you want us to just shoot you now and get it over with?"_

_Derek guessed this was a bluff. If Kate had given her lackeys specific orders, there would be consequences if they were not followed to the letter. No, as long as they didn't get to the docks he was reasonably sure he was alive. "I smell gas."_

_"I swear to God-"_

_'Lefty' interrupted 'Passenger's incoming rant with a squeak. "Gas?"_

_Derek sniffed the air, the motion only slightly exaggerated. "Don't you smell it?"_

_"I don't smell anything." 'Righty' said, his frown evident in his voice._

_"There's no smell," 'Passenger' complained although Derek thought he detected a hint of uncertainty. "That's a pretty weak ploy. Nice try though."_

_Derek could feel 'Lefty' squirming in the seat. The guy was clearly a bundle of nerves, possibly on his first job for the Argents. His voice made him sound fairly young and inexperienced- he was probably scared just being in Derek's presence and now another seed of worry was beginning to be planted._

_"I could be wrong but it's a pretty distinct scent. That open window is probably blowing it all back here."_

_"That's enough-"_

_Derek forced out a chuckle. "Oh, Kate ...it's just like her."_

_"What do you mean?" 'Lefty' gulped._

_"Don't encourage him." 'Righty' complained with a whine._

_'Driver' was saying nothing but Derek imagined she was rethinking her career path after bantering with these idiots._

_"Well," he started slowly, his tone suggesting they should already know the answer to the question. "You know how Kate is with loose ends. I mean, you should know that. You do work for her, after all."_

_A confused silence followed his statements and he barreled on, his death looming minutes away._

_"I'm just saying, there's going to be some big changes with your new leaders. You don't think they would keep around anyone with even a chance of disloyalty, do you? Only the choicest are going to remain at their side. It would be awfully convenient to ...cull the herd in batches, don't you think?"_

_"What the hell are you talking about?" 'Passenger' demanded._

_Derek shrugged. "Your car is starting to reek of gasoline. I think the vehicle has been tampered with."_

_'Passenger' scoffed but sounded nervous. "This is ridiculous."_

_"I smell it, I smell the gas," 'Lefty' piped up, positively trembling now as he thought he smelled the imaginary fumes._

_"What about you?" 'Passenger' was quizzing 'Righty' now._

_"I'm ...not sure." 'Righty responded slowly, now waffling over what to think._

_"If there's something wrong with the car, we should pull over to check it out." 'Driver' suggested and Derek was glad of her decisiveness for the moment._

_'Passenger' didn't like the idea. "We shouldn't stop, he's trying to mess with us."_

_"What if he's not? I don't think we should chance it. It'll just take a second." 'Driver' argued back._

_"I think we should stop," 'Lefty' spoke very fast now. "Like right now."_

_"This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard." 'Passenger' groaned._

_"Didn't you wonder why she 'needed' four people to dump one guy?" Derek suggested softly and that seemed to give them the little push they needed._

_"Stop the car!" 'Lefty' cried out._

_"Don't-"_

_"I'm pulling over," 'Driver' snapped with a sharp tug of the wheel._

_Derek couldn't hear much in terms of traffic and background noise. That was good- they weren't in a crowded or busy area._

_"Larry, get out and take a look since you're so goddamn concerned." 'Passenger' growled. "And you ...you try anything, you'll be sorry."_

_Derek held up his cuffed hands and tried to sound mildly bewildered. "Me? I'm handcuffed and blindfolded, what am I going to do?"_

_"Yeah, well ..." 'Passenger' muttered a string of obscenities under his breath._

_'Lefty', or Larry as the other referred to him, fumbled with the door before spilling out onto the pavement and Derek reflected Gerard's hiring process must have gone downhill in his old age. There was no other explanation or excuse for this level of idiocy._

_"Well?" 'Driver' asked._

_"I ...I don't know. The tank looks alright."_

_"Try under the car, that's where I would've hid a bomb." Derek suggested._

_"Shut it." 'Passenger' was getting more testy by the second. "Check underneath so we can get going. Should've known this would take all-"_

_Larry was halfway under the car. 'Righty' had his door cracked and was also inspecting his side for imaginary explosives. Since he was leaning away from Derek, it left his weapon wide open. All he had to bank on was 'Passenger' being too slow to react to what was about to happen._

_Derek leaned back slowly as though he was relaxing into the backseat. When he was low enough, he managed to use the friction to make his blindfold ride up just enough to see a sliver at the bottom of his vision. It wasn't much to work with but it was enough._

_As quickly as he could, Derek ripped 'Righty's gun from him and opened fire. In a second he unleashed a spray of bullets- the appropriated gun some kind of automatic weapon. He heard grunts, cries of pain and 'Passenger' cursing in the front. The first several bullets were pumped directly under 'Righty's rib cage, angled up sharply so Derek had more than likely sent them straight into the man's heart. The way he rested on Derek's shoulder also suggested he had died more or less instantly._

_The loosened blindfold slid off and Derek had to squint to see what was going on even in the low light of the alley they were currently in. Larry had begun to scream which confused Derek for a moment until he realized what had happened. He had also managed to kill the woman driving during his initial attack and she had slumped over the wheel, her foot on the gas, her long blonde hair was now streaked with red. Unfortunately for him, Larry was still beneath the car and was now acting as a human block that kept the car in place._

_'Passenger' was cursing and yelling as well, probably something about the glass in his eyes and other sentiments Derek couldn't hear over the two men babbling over each other. Another awkward burst of gunfire silenced one of them at least and gave him time to awkwardly fish for keys to the cuffs he still wore from the corpses._

_After he had climbed out, Derek rubbed at his wrists as he surveyed the wreckage wearily. It had been a long night, even for his tastes. He turned and walked away into the dark, leaving the last of his captors still screaming and alone. Kate would finish him off later anyway after he had told his tale._

***************

_A year later, Derek was sipping a steaming cup of coffee in one of Beacon City's many cafes while he scoured a newspaper. He checked the clock on the wall every few minutes, almost compulsively although he knew exactly when to expect his company._

_He had been in hiding for a while now but had recently started to search for others- impressionable pawns he could mold into weapons against the Argents. It had taken some time but he could finally admit he couldn't do it by himself. They were too well-established and he was just one man._

_It had been easy enough to steal some records from the police station- stacks of likely candidates for his cause. Runaways, delinquents, people no one would miss or care about. He had been chatting online with one them, had struck up a friendship over the last few weeks and had convinced the boy to meet him in the flesh, in a public space of course. It was the first step towards avenging his Uncle and the eventual revenge thrilled him in ways the ordinary kill just didn't. He was looking forward to watching the life fade from Kate's eyes._

_"Um ...hey?"_

_Derek plastered on a bright smile as he turned to greet the small voice addressing him._

_"Hey, Isaac. I'm Derek. It's really great to finally meet you."_

_Isaac gave him a little smile back and stood awkwardly where he was. Derek supposed he was just happy to get away from his abusive father even though Derek was still a stranger to him in this new and unfamiliar situation._

_Still, he gestured amiably towards the empty seat. "Why don't you sit down and we can talk?"_


	4. Four Rusted Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone will come to my funeral
> 
> to make sure that i stay dead
> 
> you can't take this from me
> 
> forbidden in heaven and useless in hell
> 
> (I can see my coffin shining)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long- and a short chapter at that. I humbly throw myself at your feet and again promise this story isn't dead! It's just been a difficult birth but we're getting there, damn it! (._.;)

It was perfectly normal for the police station to be in utter chaos. In a city that large, there was always something going on. Officers and detectives were usually running back and forth, handling best they could the constant flux of minor offenses and the enormous amounts of paperwork that came with the more complicated cases. Usually, the hum of the coffee machine and his staff shouting at each other across the hall, the sounds of feet stomping around in a hurry, even the filing cabinets repeatedly slamming closed was a soothing sort of bedlam to Chief Stilinski. These days, however, the station was eerily still. Leads on cases had completely dried up- for most of them the police force was flying blind on its own resources with a bit of blind luck every now and then.

Through the glass and beige blinds that surrounded his office in the center of the room, he could see his men talking quietly with each other, faces haggard with somber, tired expressions. Outside, the rain gently rapped against the building, almost pleadingly John thought before shaking his head. Apparently the late melancholy of his workplace was starting to get to him in a bad way.

John ran a finger over a picture of his late wife, wiping away a smear of dust from her smiling face. In the photo, Stiles is grinning widely- only four years old and still perfectly happy, innocent in his mother's arms. John studied it often while he was lost in thought as if some vital clue would be revealed to him. As always, it gave him little comfort and more often than not caused him to waste away precious time wondering what exactly went wrong and where.

A gentle knock came at his door, shaking him out of his thoughts and back into the task at hand.

"Come in." He cleared his throat and hoped most of the saddened nostalgia was wiped from his expression. By Jordan's wince he assumed he had done a poor job.

"We're ready when you are, Chief."

John nodded and gestured to the empty chairs in front of his desk, musing silently to himself as Jordan left to collect the other officers he had summoned. Jordan Parrish was one of the few officers that still used his title like it meant something. There had been several times during the past month where he had been not-so-subtly urged by the board to take a break what with Stiles' "death" and subsequent events. He had, of course, refused the Superintendent himself and the board as well. Now they had opted for involving the FBI in Beacon City's affairs and he found himself forced to take borderline hostile calls from various agents who all demanded to be caught up to speed on the latest as if they hadn't reports of their own to reference. All in all, there were definitely days he considered leaving.

Jordan returned with a nod, two of the newer officers, Ramsey and Vega in tow.

John only knew the bare bones of their stories- Ramsey was from the poorer side of town, one of three siblings. Passed his entrance exams two months ago with flying colours. Vega was a transfer, also a rookie- he didn't know as much about her background but it wasn't important for what he needed of them.

"Close the door. Blinds too, please."

Ramsey and Vega looked at each other, both beginning to look a little worried. Probably thought they had screwed up somehow and now their overtired, overworked boss was going to tear a strip off them.

John tried for a welcoming demeanor, a smile that was probably a thin and unconvincing line. Vega began twirling her long silky hair in a nervous gesture.

"Is everything alright?" Jordan asked softly, the young officer's eyes sympathetic. Normally John hated that look from people but there was nothing behind Parrish's naked sincerity. He knew he had been leaning heavily on the younger man, perhaps too heavily for his station. It couldn't be helped though, not when trustworthy people were getting scarce.

"Yeah- well no, not really. But you guys are smart enough to know that." John put his hands together as if in prayer while he studied the deputies. Young, still full of energy and lacking the jaded cynicism most of his colleagues his age all had in common. He hoped he had made the right decision. "I need a favour from you."

Ramsey straightened up in his seat. "Chief?"

John held their eyes. "I need you three to work on a special case for me- off the books. No reports, no paper trail. You'll report to me alone- I don't want anyone else at the station involved and that means we keep a tight lid on things."

The deputies side-eyed eachother, missing an awkward beat before Jordan spoke slowly. "Is this about ...your son, Sir?"

John slammed his hand down on his desk, startling Vega and Ramsey as he snapped. "No! I mean, no. Sorry. It's ...about more than that. It's about this whole goddamn city that's slowly imploding in front of us. There's something big happening and there's someone pulling the strings behind it all. The force as a whole won't cut it- it's too easily noticed, too clunky. A small team though ..."

The newer officers again exchanged a quick look, one that suggested their boss might be losing it completely. Jordan just looked sad. "Chief, I don't mean any disrespect- you know I highly-"

John waved his hand before opening one of the drawers in his desk, a suddenly manic gleam in his eyes. "I thought you might be skeptical, after all, I can't pretend I've been the leader this station has needed lately. So tell me what you think about these-"

A substantial pile of small devices were deposited on the edge of the desk. The nervous energy in the room stilled and evaporated.

Ramsey's eyes narrowed. "Are those-"

"Bugs." Jordan confirmed quietly.

"These are from my office and the records room. I haven't checked the rest of the station but I assume they're in every room in abundance."

"Someone is listening to everything we do and say?" Vega demanded, a red blush rising in her cheeks. "In the station and nobody noticed?"

"I did," John shrugged wearily. "After a while. But who planted them? And why?" He smiled grimly without humour. "That's what we want to find out. I'd like you to come to my home tonight after your shifts are done. Officer Parrish will pick the two of you up- and make sure you aren't tailed."

***************

Outside the Stilinski residence, the surrounding street and neighborhood was dark and quiet. No one was about at this hour and yet John found himself peeking around the edge of the living room curtains like some gossiping cat lady.

Behind him, the coffee table was completely covered in stacks of folders and the boxes piled beside it were filled to the brim with even more. He wished he could say it was put together specifically for their investigations but it was a familiar sight. The only thing missing was the slowly depleting bottle of scotch he would nurse until he was forced to close his eyes. In the background, John's scanner crackled every now and then with patrolling officers communicating their updates and whereabouts.

A knock came at the front door and he found himself approaching cautiously, his gun drawn in his own house. By turns he felt paranoid and completely justified given all that had happened in the past year. When he saw Parrish, Ramsey, and Vega on his doorstep through the peephole, he hastily deposited the gun in a side table lest his officers start to suspect he was losing his mind again.

"Thanks for coming." He ushered them in, squinting one last time into the night before closing the door behind his guests and locking it with a quiet click. "You weren't followed?"

Jordan shook his head. "I don't think so. We drove around for a little while before coming here. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Good, come on in then."

Vega eyed the numerous stacks of paper with mixed distaste and wonder. "What's all this?"

John gave a wry, hollow smile as everyone removed their coats and settled in. "Our project for tonight. Every murder, arson, drug bust, gang-related crime since my son ...left." He swallowed the lump that never seemed to truly leave the confines of his throat. He knew every time he used the word 'left' other people heard 'dead' and he hated it.

"Okay," Ramsey nodded, brow furrowing. "So what are we looking for, exactly?"

"Anything." John hoped the desperation didn't shine through behind his words. "Some connection, something odd that hadn't been noticed before. I'm convinced there's something we've just been too overwhelmed to notice." He paused. "Well, let's dig in."

The scanner chattered away in the background, thankfully eliminating any discomforting silence.

"Unit 4, what's your position?"

"22 on Clearhill, over."

Everyone grabbed a pile and got to work, ignoring the sheer amount of folders that loomed over them. Each of them writing their own notes and questions on notepads the Chief had provided. Hours passed, John leaving and coming back from his kitchen with several helpings of coffee.

"'nother cup?"

Vega yawned as she reached for the cup offered. "Yeah, thanks." She took a sip, trying to make her tired eyes focus on the words swimming on the pages. She stilled as a muffled vibration caused her colleagues to pause. "Sorry, Chief," she sheepishly withdrew a cellphone from her pocket, placing her coffee back down on the table carefully among the papers spread out across it. "Mind if I take this?" At John's nod she left the room, speaking quietly in the hall.

"Hey, Chief?" Jordan rubbed at the back of his neck. "Mind if I uh ...refill your sugar?"

John arched an eyebrow, amused at his deputy's penchant for highly milky, sugary coffee. "Nah, I've got it. You look like you're knee-deep in kidnappings." He grabbed the nearly empty dish and headed back into the kitchen. From the living room, the only sounds were rustling papers and the barest amount of conversation between Parrish and Ramsey.

He was about to return to them when he couldn't help but overhear Vega around the corner.

"-being careful. Well, what you think?" Her voice was tight with ...disgust? Anger? He couldn't be sure. "We're doing what we can- no, no of course not," she hissed into the receiver and John chose the moment to casually walk into the hall and gave his best impression of a tired, disarming smile.

He didn't miss the slight widening of her eyes, nor the way she hung up without any goodbye. "Everything okay?"

Vega didn't hesitate though there was a slight blush rising on her cheeks. "Yeah, yeah, everything's good. Just some family drama, you know?"

John gave her a deadpan look. "Believe me, I know all about it."

Vega let out a dry laugh at his morbid joke and the jilted air left her almost immediately though John would keep the odd encounter in the back of his mind. She sat back down on the couch and nudged Ramsey who was in danger of nodding off and toppling a gigantic pile of reports. "You'd think with Argent gone we'd have a thousand less cases, not a thousand more."

Ramsey and Parrish snorted their amusement but John looked thoughtfully over his reading glasses.

"It doesn't make much sense," Vega continued in a more serious tone as she pieced her thoughts together. "I mean, you have this huge player in organized crime and its a pretty well-oiled machine, right? So then one day, poof, all gone. What do you expect to see?"

Jordan nodded, draining the last of his mug. "Well, those structures would totally collapse, there'd be a total power void. You'd get a little infighting with the leftovers, sure, but-"

"-but there should be less executions, intimidation-"

Vega gestured tiredly to the stacks. "Less of all of this."

Ramsey squinted at the folder in his hands. "But there's more than before, judging by the dates on these."

Jordan sat up a little straighter, rubbed at his face. "So if Argent's structures and networks are allegedly defunct but the data doesn't change, we're looking at possible competition free to do as they please without Argent stamping them down."

"I've thought along those lines," John said, exhausted but pleased. "There has to more than that though. Things never slowed down after Argent- there was no period of quiet, if anything things immediately escalated afterwards. It just doesn't make- wait. Clear the table off."

"Chief?" The papers were hurriedly moved to the carpeted floor.

"What are the dates on these cases? Read them out and hand them over."

The three officers began listing the numbers, watching as John snatched them away and began making distinct piles. They waited patiently with a growing sense of excitement to see what breakthrough had been made.

"This pile," John pointed at the largest one. "Is in the 2 month window after Argent's arrest. It's mostly unsolved murders, arson of well-known businesses, a few kidnappings. This one," another pile, somewhat smaller. "Is the next window of two to three months after that. Mostly gang-related, drugs and the like."

"So what does that mean?" Vega questioned aloud.

"It means there's a pattern here- it's not random." John mused, feeling a rush of adrenaline hit him, so out of place in the quiet of his living room. "I didn't even notice before."

"Just looking too hard, Chief." Jordan gave a wan, generous smile.

"Hah, right." John redistributed the piles. "Now what do these have in common now? Jordan, give us the basics. We'll skim through the details together."

"Uh, alright." Jordan grabbed the first one, reading aloud. "Thomas Stillwell, 47, found dead in his home, shot in the back of the head execution-style. Worked as an attorney- oh, he was one of the people who helped get Argent elected, pretty vocal supporter." He paused, looking at John over the paper until the older man gestured for him to continue. "That's pretty much it on this guy- no real leads. I think we chocked it up to a grudge killing, maybe somebody he helped put away or something?"

"Maybe," John conceded. "Next one."

"Okay, then there was the R&J Investors Group fire the same week. Huge consulting firm, had a lot of high profile clients. Building was burned to the ground, two employees were found inside, had to be identified by dental records. Next is-"

"Who were their clients?" John interrupted.

"Uh, let's see... mostly private, one-on-one type stuff- hey, Argent's in here too actually."

John licked his lips, mouth suddenly bone dry. "How many of these cases had a tie to Argent?"

Jordan frowned as the three of them looked through the nearest cases together. "Again here."

Vega jabbed a folder with her finger. "Most of these."

"This one too."

John nodded slowly as he thought. "Argent didn't have a competitor. Someone's been systematically snuffing out most of the old partnerships and ties- and taken over the rest, I'd wager."

Everyone suddenly felt a little more awake.

"Holy shit." Vega whistled. "It makes perfect sense if that's what's happening."

John shook his head. "I think we're a little late for that party. It's already happened."

As the others sat quietly, stunned and digesting what they had just discussed, John leaned back in his chair. He privately wondered how much of it Stiles was involved in and hoped it wasn't willingly at least. He decided it would be better just to continue to hope Stiles was still alive and breathing, still had a chance of coming home.

In the moment of disquiet stillness, the radio was easily heard.

"-187 at the harbour, sector 49. That's multiple 187s, requesting all active officers-"

John sighed heavily, not surprised the night was about to become even longer for them. Multiple homicides made it long indeed. "Well, might as well check it out- we're up." He clapped Ramsey on the shoulder as he stood. "Ramsey, Vega- go on home and get some sleep. Jordan and I can swing by the harbour side and see what's happened."

"Chief-" Vega began to protest.

"No, no," John waved them off. "You guys have done enough. Good work tonight. I'll see you at the station tomorrow. We've got a new angle to start from and we'll need at least a couple brains not starved for sleep." He smiled tiredly at them as they said their goodnights and departed. 

"Do you think this is related?" Jordan asked softly as he pulled out of the driveway.

John rubbed at his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so drained. He hardly realized they had left the house and gotten into Parrish's car. "I'd say there's a good chance."

"Agreed."

"Let's hope it's not any worse than what we've already been dealing with."

***************

 

 

It was. It really was.

The car door slammed a little too loudly and John winced an apologetic look Parrish's way. As they approached the pier, the salty smell of the water hit their nostrils on the breeze. The closer they got to the officers already on the scene, toting flashlights and moving amongst the prone forms laying on the ground, the oceanic scent began to give way to the cloying presence of death. A few blood-splattered bills were stuck the wood under their feet.

"What the hell is this now?" John muttered.

"Chief Stilinski!" One of the officers waved him over. "Here."

John squinted through the flashlight's sudden glare and carefully made his way towards the man, counting the bodies as he went.

"Pretty bad here, Chief." The man was younger than he had expected, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead even down by the cold water. "I'd shake your hand, but ..." He held up a hand protected by a stained latex glove.

"You're from the coroner's office?"

"That's right, Hendry, sir. Doctor Downell's assistant."

John nodded absently. "Where is Dr. Downell?"

Hendry shrugged. "I guess he's under the weather sir, so they called me in. Coroner from the next county over couldn't make it over either."

Around them, John glanced at the corpses. "So what's happened here? Drug deal gone bad?"

The coroner's assistant shrugged. "That's what the other officers are saying, sure."

"What do you say?"

Hendry seemed surprised the chief of police would ask his opinion, and in that moment Parrish felt a great deal of admiration for the man- the Chief never discounted someone based on their age or field of expertise.

"Well," Hendry started, kneeling down beside one of the dead men. "All of these guys were killed exactly the same way, within seconds of each other."

Jordan squinted at the body. "They were shot."

"Ah, not just 'shot'." Hendry pointed to the man's neck where a large hole had been created. "Gunned down with a high-powered rifle from a fairly impressive distance. Trajectory seems to indicate up there." He nodded towards a construction site a few piers down, the scaffolding tall and skeletal.

They watched as another officer passed by, collecting the blood-stained money that littered the area.

"And there's all that."

"They left the money?" Jordan sounded surprised and John had to concur with his partner.

"Yup, lots of it flying around too. That's the funny part, Chief. Whoever was left standing didn't seem to be worried about all the money- and last count we were at fifteen grand." They watched briefly as the bills continued to be painstakingly collected from the scene. "It's pretty weird, right?"

"Right ..." John agreed but seemed to be distracted as he trailed off. He carefully knelt down beside one of the bodies.

"No I.Ds yet on these guys," Hendry continued. "Probably not locals though I'm guessing."

"You guess right," John shook his head. "See those tattoos? Those are cartel symbols."

"Cartel? As in ...Mexico?"

"That's the one." John answered grimly. "The question is who were they trying to do business with here?" He didn't say so outloud, but he also knew a high profile organization like the cartel wasn't going to take the brazen gunning down of several members laying down- there would be retaliation sooner rather than later. "As if we didn't have enough going on," he murmured, looking out at the dark, undulating water. "Damn it."

*************

Stiles closed the door to his room behind him with a heavy sigh, somehow unaware he'd been holding his breath on the walk back from the old storage room. Piecing together another small part of Derek's past didn't make him feel any better- if anything it just led to more questions. Reading through the files had made it seem like Peter was a seriously malignant force in his Nephew's life. Derek left home for reasons still unclear and shortly after he had met up Peter, the rest ... Well, I know the rest, don't I? At least the shortened, condensed version anyway.

He kicked the box of files under the bed and sat on the floor, leaning back against the bed frame. For now he had no other moves to make. Besides waiting ...there's always that. Stiles let his head rest in his hands, heavy and exhausted. The more time passed the less he was afraid of his own powerlessness and just plain tired, too tired to be truly fearful. Being around Derek was like holding onto a live wire and it was draining him completely- it mystified him that it hadn't already.

On the surveillance feeds playing on his computer, he idly watched the people moving throughout the tunnels, eating in the cafeteria, going about their various business. He debated on going to bed early to spare himself another night of monotony, awaiting Derek's return and the stress and thrill it would bring.

A piece of paper inched its way under the thin crack of the door. What-

Stiles snatched it up with trembling hands and opened the note:

 **BE READY**  



	5. Armagoddamnmotherfuckingeddon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> is it the news?
> 
> or is it the noose?
> 
> results may vary
> 
> side effects are very...
> 
> (I've got a black eye of a soul)

Stiles woke to a blaring alarm that immediately caused an ache to bloom in the center of his skull. "What the everloving fuck-" he grumbled to no one. He hastily pulled on a pair of pants and marched over to the door, giving it a solid whack before clamping his hands over his ears.

"HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON OUT THERE?!" Too late he realized in his frustration that he'd forgotten no one would be able to hear him in a sound-proof room. "Fuck!"

He practically jumped into the chair at his computer and brought the security feeds to life, wincing as the alarm continued to shriek away. Almost every single camera displayed similar images of people running down corridors. Outside the armory, weapons were being dispensed in an efficient manner. Were they under attack? Who had the resources or even the knowledge of their location?

Stiles could see Derek's form stalking down a hall, no doubt barking commands and taking control of the situation. He shivered, the feeling of the man's hands on him still easily brought to mind from the night before. He had woken in the middle of the night to Derek's breath ghosting across the back of his neck, soft murmurs telling him to go back to sleep. At some point he had woken again, Derek rubbing at his temples and muttering something about an early meeting. Then he was gone again and Stiles hated how badly he missed the warmth of the body that was pressed so tightly against him. It should have been claustrophobic especially given the past but it was solid, it was safe- and he knew that wasn't a normal feeling by any stretch of his imagination. Not after what he'd been through.

The door to his room opened and he sighed, assuming it was the man who continued to dominate his thoughts. He swung around in the chair, not sure if he was hoping for Derek or ...who? His father? Some other rescuer? He couldn't really say, the truth of his feelings were murky and phantasmal, difficult to see.

He gaped as Edward flew into the room, quickly closing the door behind him almost all the way, a thin slice of bright light coming in from the hallway outside. His brow furrowed. No one was normally allowed in Stiles' room unless they were delivering his meals. Did Derek send you to get me?

Stiles crossed his arms, uncomfortable at the intrusion. "What's going on? You're- you're not supposed to be here."

Edward snorted and shook his head like Stiles had said something incredibly stupid. "Neither are you, Stilinski." His voice was higher than Stiles expected, almost like a girl-

He lost his train of thought when Edward's fingers disappeared under the hem of his jacket and began to peel away a layer of skin that covered his throat and chin.

"What the fuck!" What Stiles was seeing made no sense and he could only stare in complete bewilderment as the skin on Edward's face ripped away with a gross wet sound to reveal-

"It's been awhile, Stilinski. You probably didn't recognize me like this-" a mane of blonde hair was shaken loose with a grateful sigh. "-especially underneath sixteen pounds of latex. Only bad thing about it honestly, you overheat like a motherfucker."

"Erica," Stiles stated weakly, still hardly believing what his eyes were relaying to his brain. "What are you doing here?"

Erica smirked and the sight brought him back to their old escapades. "Rescuing your ass, duh." She broke their eye contact and scratched at the last bits of rubber still clinging to her skin in places. "You didn't think we'd leave you, did you?"

Stiles looked at the floor, half ashamed and half annoyed. "Yeah," he answered softly, barely heard above the din. "Sorta did. It's ...it's been a long time, right?"

Erica squeezed his shoulder as he echoed her words back to her, losing a blooming smile as he flinched underneath her touch. "Jesus, Stilinski, we've got to get you out of here- what are you mumbling about?"

"I can't," he murmured. "I can't. I-"

"What?" Erica stepped back on her heels, eyeing him as if she were suddenly unsure of who he was. "You're kidding me." She grabbed his hand painfully hard and began to pull him towards the door. When he resisted she just pulled harder as her patience waned.

"No, no, Erica-"

"Look, Stiles" Erica hissed as she whirled around, angry now at her reception. "We didn't risk our necks coming back to this hell hole for you to be all ...brainwashed or whatever you are. Isaac and Boyd are-"

"Isaac and Boyd are here too?" Stiles muttered in disbelief.

Erica sighed. "Yes, you idiot. Of course they're here. I'm pretty skilled but I wouldn't be able to pull this off all by myself. Look, Derek's guys are freaking out- we have to get moving, so ...are you coming or not?"

A moment passed.

"Okay." It was a terrifying word to speak and all he could utter before he started to shake.

"Okay?" Erica grinned. "Okay then. Keep it together for me, Batman. Let's get the hell out of Gotham."

"Hah," Stiles took a deep breath, grateful now for the pressure around his trembling hands. "Right."

Erica carefully cracked the door further ajar and poked her wrist out, a small mirror clutched in her hand reflected an empty corridor. "Okay, looks clear. Keep on my ass, got it?"

With that they took off, Stiles stumbling almost immediately but doing his best to keep up as Erica pounced from wall to wall, scanning every corner carefully before they committed to the route.

"Looks like the cartel are hitting the other end of the tunnels, that's good for us." She mentioned as they leaned against a wall, waiting for Stiles to catch his breath.

"The cartel's here?" Stiles breathed out, shaking his head. This isn't good.

"Yup," Erica shrugged. "We heard through the grapevine they'd be coming by but them coming here at the same time as us wasn't the original plan, believe me. Hopefully they keep distracting Derek's goons long enough for us to slip by."

Stiles continued to breathe in heavily, his mind surprisingly quiet as it digested the information. All he could focus on was getting enough air into his lungs to run the length of the facility which was now silent at least in the wing they found themselves in.

Either someone had finally shut off that blasted alarm or it had reached the end of its own duration. The sounds of their feet against the floor sounded absolutely deafening but he tried to convince himself it was just in contrast to before. They still hadn't actually seen anyone else but in the distance the sounds of people yelling and the odd gunshot echoed through the compound.

It was making him realize just how labyrinthine the series of connecting tunnels really were. Must have taken Argent ages to dig all this shit out. So deep in thought, Stiles collided with Erica when she suddenly stopped. "Ow, Erica, what-"

"Friend of yours, Stilinski?"

They had rounded a corner she hadn't bothered checking and came face to face with a man who towered over them both. He was heavily tattooed, even more so than Stiles, and had an ugly scar that curved over one side of his jaw. He's not one of Derek's- he's cartel. The three of them stared at each other for a moment- it was almost comical, at least until the man reached for his gun.

The air left his lungs as Erica's body slammed into his own and drove them through a nearby door. He lay there, stunned and wheezing on the ground as Erica slammed the door closed with a vicious kick from where she laid. His ears were ringing but he could hear other voices getting closer- it didn't sound like English through the door, so he assumed it could only be more cartel members.

"Goddamn it," Erica spat a bit of blood on the floor, her lip cut open from their fall. "This was not part of the plan."

"Vent." Stiles mumbled, pointing behind a couple shelves full of old binders. They had fallen into an office that hadn't seen much use since Derek had taken the place over.

"Huh? Oh!" Erica's eyes followed. "Stilinski, you're a treat. Let's get that open."

Luckily, a couple of the screws were already loose and together they managed to pry it off the wall without too much trouble. They stared into the small dark space.

"Any idea where this goes?"

Stiles swallowed. "No idea." At their backs the sounds of the door beginning to break in sent a fresh rush of fear and adrenaline through him. "Better than here though."

"True," Erica agreed as she shoved him through, following and gently pulling the grill back in place. If they were lucky, their pursuers wouldn't notice the screws were gone. "Let's go."

It took longer than they thought, being that it was an absolute void of light and Erica didn't want any attention being drawn by her flashlight. So they had to go by touch- and it wasn't pleasant. The duct was full of velvety dust and Stiles didn't even want to think about what else was crunching under his hands every few feet.

"Light up ahead." Erica whispered.

Sure enough, the vent was coming to an end- at least where they could get to. Just before it turned up towards the surface, it also opened up into another room similar to the one they had come from.

"Give me a hand with this," Erica grunted as she kicked at the vent. "Or a foot."

Stiles squeezed in next to her and together they got enough force to dislodge the grill with a well-timed kick.

"Nice," Erica picked a dust bunny out of her hair with distaste. "Hopefully nobody heard that."

"Where do we go now?" Stiles wondered, rubbing his dirty hands off on his jeans.

Erica paused, looking momentarily unsure of herself. "That's ...an excellent question, Stilinski. Isaac is at the other end of the place- he's our ride tonight. Boyd-"

A series of explosions cut her off and her grin was brilliant, her hands on her hips. "-is blowing the fuck out of Derek's shit. Hah!" She opened the door, ready now with a small pistol and narrowed eyes. Stiles had no doubts she would use it either. "I'm going to take a quick peek up ahead, I'm pretty sure we're close. Just wait here for a second, alright?"

Stiles felt himself seize up a little. "No, don't leave me here, please-"

"Hey, hey," Erica winked. "We're golden here. Just think of tasting that fresh night air."

With that she vanished around the corner and Stiles was left alone with his thoughts. What he was thinking of was what the outside held for him now. His Dad would never stop looking for him, he was sure of that. Whether he wanted him to come home or throw him in jail was another matter to be considered. And then there was Derek. Derek would scour the ends of the Earth to track him down, he'd never let him go. What life was there for him besides one always on the run from one of two extremes? 

The minutes seemed to drag on and finally his nervousness outweighed the almost paralyzing fear. He stepped into the hall, honestly unsure of whether he was going to follow Erica or wait quietly for everything to blow over and Derek to make sure he was safe again. As soon as he poked his head out the door a voice spoke, violently startling him.

"Going somewhere?"

Stiles blanched- running straight into Derek then would've only been slightly more terrifying. Ian didn't have any weapon drawn but smirked nonetheless as he strode forward. He was hostile towards Stiles at the best of times- at least as much as he could get away with in Derek's presence. He wouldn't be adverse to breaking a bone or two and blaming it on the cartel attack, Stiles knew that much.

So he ran, panicking and glancing over his shoulder at the man so confident in his position he continued to walk after him at a steady pace. Stiles knew if Ian wanted to he would be right on his heels in a second. It was obviously a game to him, another outlet for his blatant sadism. The more distance he could put between them the better.

Unfortunately, Stiles repaid Erica for earlier by taking a sharp turn and running directly into her back, his jaw smacking painfully against her shoulder.

"Fuck, Stilinski! I thought I told you-" She broke off at the terrified, pale expression on his face.

"Run, just run," Stiles grabbed at her hand as another series of explosions went off nearby, the walls and floors shaking from the force. He was surprised when Erica immediately changed their direction to send them towards the booming noise. "Why are we-" Stiles panted. "-running towards them?"

Erica grit her teeth, lungs beginning to burn as well from the over exertion. "Boyd's close."

Stiles was too busy looking over their shoulder again, searching for Ian coming after them, and didn't see the scarred man from earlier until it was too late to even cry out in alarm. He moved faster than Stiles would think possible for a man his size and the shove was vicious as he plowed into them. Both Stiles and Erica slammed into the opposite wall, Erica hitting the side of her head and the wind getting knocked out of Stiles completely.

The cartel member was getting to his feet first, fall broken by their bodies. Apparently he hadn't been dissuaded by their momentary evasion and was already to his feet as they tried to gather themselves. As though in slow motion, he raised a sawn-off shotgun- as Stiles stared down the barrel for a lethal second, his eyes were inadvertedly drawn to the small black feather that hung from the trigger. The last thing you'll ever-

The gunshot was loud and left his skull aching and ears ringing but he was still alive. A spray of blood painted the wall in front of them and the sagging body of the would-be gunman slumped over against it, blood trickling from the side of his temple.

Through the smoke emerging from the end of the corridor, a figure emerged and removed his gas mask to reveal a brow beaded with sweat and a thankfully familiar face.

"Hey, baby." Erica smiled weakly, her eyes a little unfocused. Stiles guessed she was at least slightly concussed. "Isaac ready to go?"

Boyd opened his mouth to answer but the words never came. Another gunshot replaced anything he might have said.

"NO!"

He wasn't sure if it was Erica or himself screaming, yelling- maybe it was the two of them at once. He could only watch in horror as a brilliant red flower began to bloom across Boyd's stomach as he fell to his knees, hands clutching desperately at the wound.

Ian had shot him in the back. Through his terror, Stiles felt a white-hot rage beginning to burn, quickly extinguished for the moment when the gun was turned on Erica. How it was possible to hate the man even more, Stiles didn't know. Ian sauntered over, stepping over Boyd who was still alive and trying his best to crawl towards them, pressing the barrel against Erica's head. She seemed to hardly notice, eyes filled with tears and locked on Boyd.

"No! No! Get away from her!" Stiles' teeth clattered together, his fists balled up tight at his sides. He grunted with pain when Ian's foot came down to press roughly against his chest, keeping him pinned to the floor where he could only watch.

Ian laughed. "You're awfully brave all of a sudden. Who's going to stop me, huh? You?"

Stiles gave him the coldest look he could manage while wheezing for a breath. "You know who."

Ian withdrew his foot as if Stiles had scalded him. The threat seemed to give him pause, his smug smile faltering and he looked ready to get angry instead when Derek appeared at his side seconds later, walking casually from around the corner. Distantly, Stiles wondered how long he had been listening, watching to all that had played out in the last few minutes. Ian's grin returned as if nothing in the world was wrong. "Speak of the devil, boss."

"And he shall appear." Erica mumbled from Stiles' side.

Stiles looked up to meet Derek's eyes, the man's expression was unreadable and Stiles let his eyes wash over him, searching for any hint of mercy or compassion. Derek was surprisingly the first to break the eye contact, glancing down at the red stains on the floor as if distasteful of them.

"Hello, Edward."

Stiles felt a chill at the words. Derek said the name with an ersatz, unpleasant tone and Stiles knew Erica's disguise hadn't fooled him for a moment. Knowing the man as he did, he had probably been merely curious to see how things would play out. If he had actually felt there was even a chance of Stiles ...leaving- 'escaping' wasn't quite the right word, he would have dealt with the infiltration in its infancy. "Derek-"

Derek held up a hand for silence, his face disinterested in whatever Stiles had to say at the moment. Two of his men swept into the space, disarming Erica and Boyd completely though it was obvious neither of them were able to fight back with their injuries. He nodded towards Erica. "White. Take her to holding," he instructed, Ian glowering at the instruction like he was hoping for an execution on the spot. "Is he still alive?"

Ian nudged Boyd with a foot, appraising the still form as Stiles blinked away the tears that were welling up, his lip trembling with a held back sob. "Nope. Must have bled out already, boss."

"YOU FUCKING BASTARDS I'LL KILL YOU!" Erica lunged with a cry so full of pain and rage it was physically painful for Stiles to hear, reverberating in his chest. Still off-kilter from her fall, she lost her balance and fell directly into Ian who grabbed her by the hair roughly with a grin. "Come on, princess. You can scream all you want in your new castle."

Stiles tried to get to his feet for a second, too exhausted and emotionally broken to quite get there. Under his hand, something dug into his palm and his fingers clenched around the object instinctively.

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, DEREK! YOU CAN'T KEEP US HERE! LET ME GO-" it faded away soon enough and Stiles listened numbly. Erica would be kicking and vowing revenge the whole way to her cell and it was Stiles' fault she was in there. This is all my fault.

It had felt real for a moment, that life above ground was a real possibility again. A life without Derek who had been speaking to him, hand crushing his shoulder painfully in a punishing grip.

"-hurt?"

"What?" He murmured, listening to one of the men radio the others. Two intruders apprehended. Where was the third? Erica, Boyd, Isaac. Isaac. Where was Isaac?

Derek released him with a frown, brushing fingers across his brow and Stiles couldn't help but lean into the touch. Weak. Disgusting. "I asked if you were alright, Stiles."

He didn't answer at first, only blinked and studied the carnage in the hallway with a bland expression. "Boyd is dead."

"Yes."

"Boyd is dead," Stiles swallowed, his throat painfully dry. "How can I be alright? How can you?"

Derek frowned. "It's ...unfortunate. I know it's upsetting. I understand that."

"Oh my god." Stiles barked out a laugh with an ugly, hysterical quality that made Derek raise a brow.

"Come on." Derek gently urged him, helping him to his feet and putting an arm around him. He began to lead him back the way they had come, back to his room. My prison. Where nobody but Derek can get me. Where my friends don't die. The thought stabbed into him, guilt like a white-hot knife.

"What are you going to do with her?" He asked softly once he gathered the courage to speak without breaking down completely. All the energy had left him and he was running on fumes just to keep walking, leaning his weight against Derek's side.

Derek petted his hair soothingly. "Erica and Boyd had their chance, Stiles. You know I can't let her go now. You understand that, don't you?"

Stiles nodded absently, completely frozen over. He felt as though he were in a very bad dream and just had to get through it before everything went back to how it should be. Two more lives had been ruined and added to the heaping pile in his conscience- and it was two he just couldn't bear. More than ever, Stiles just wanted so badly not to be him. For this to not be his life. If he could have simply willed himself out of existence, to not even be, he would've done it in a heartbeat. But he was powerless here.  
Derek's hands continued to rest at his back, steering him along with a firm grip as his people reported on the cartel's attack. Apparently there was a leak in the security protocols-

-and Stiles stopped listening. It didn't matter anymore. Having rescue dangled in front of him after months of quietly, stubbornly hoping and having it crushed so quickly, so brutally- it was too much. You were wrong. Wrong all along. You don't need rescuing- this is what you wanted, exactly what you deserve. You should have just shut the fuck up and enjoyed what you had. They came to Stiles' room, door still wide open and beckoning him inside to bask in predictable, terrible solitude.

"I'll come see you later after this is all straightened out," Derek was saying before turning his attention to another. "Post two outside this door at all times."

"Yes, sir."

Then silence. He was alone. He wanted to tell Derek the guard outside the door wasn't necessary, that he knew better now but he couldn't have found the words even if anyone was there to listen to them. In his hand, he held Erica's pocket mirror they had used in the botched escape attempt. As he popped it open and looked at his reflection he collapsed to his knees, consumed with self hatred and began to weep, unable to hold it back any longer. He cried for Boyd, for himself, for the whole messy situation until there weren't any tears left. You're such an idiot. What have you done?

***************

Stiles woke up nearly nude in his bed, an almost molten heat pressed into his back, bare skin on his skin. Derek had apparently retrieved him from the floor and undressed him during the deep sleep brought on by his extreme distress. As he laid there, he began to recall, the images flooding over him- Boyd face down in a growing pool of blood, the terrible screams as Erica was dragged away, it just futher sunk in that he was a fool to think there could be life outside what Derek had given him. His friends were imprisoned or worse and it was his fault.

Beside him, Derek began to mutter in his sleep, tossing and turning as he grunted out unintelligible words. Stiles squirmed away from the heavy weight of Derek's arm draped over him and sat up in the bed, the air in the room cool on his clammy back.

"Derek?" He whispered, slowly growing more alarmed as his movements became more erratic with the thrashing of his limbs. His eyes, adjusted to the dark, could see the sheen of sweat on Derek's skin, the muscles beneath taut and straining against some phantom force in his dreams. He hesitantly laid a hand on Derek's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "Derek?" He tried again, crying out in surprise and fear when Derek's eyes shot open and his hand clamped down around Stiles' wrist. "Derek ...you're hurting me, what's wrong?"

Derek's brow drew tight and he blinked, his expression blank for a moment before some form of recognition came into his eyes. "Stiles?"

Stiles drew back his wrist as Derek released it, rubbing at it fretfully. "You were ...having a nightmare or something." He noticed Derek wince. "Are you okay?"

"Head hurts," Derek grunted, pulling Stiles back into a warm, sticky embrace he didn't dare refuse after the doubtless disappointment he had already brought. "Go back to sleep."

They were silent for a while, Stiles afraid Derek had already fallen back asleep when he whispered. "I'm sorry. I- I didn't mean ..." He felt a mixture of nervous energy laced with relief when Derek answered right away.

"I know, Stiles." Derek squeezed tighter against him.

Stiles laid awake for most of the night in equal parts despair and guilt. What were you thinking? Leave Derek? You need him- and he needs you, moron. Why throw away what you know? It's like I forgot who put Carson in the ground and so I can't see Dad- so what? It's not like we had a good relationship to begin with. My friends are gone- it's just Derek and me now. Like it was always supposed to be.

The thought of Boyd still trying to get to Erica with a bullet in his back curdled his heart. He shuddered, pressing further into Derek's touch. I'll ask about Erica first thing tomorrow. Maybe I can visit her, maybe things will work out. He struggled to push the thoughts of bloody walls and gunshots out of his racing mind. Erica's still alive. I can still do something right here.


End file.
